Muse Quest
by candycane-eyelashes
Summary: 5 Friends find themselves in M.E. There's one problem though. It's Not Tolkien's world, it's someone else's fanfic! The timeline has stopped completely! Is there a way the Immies can get it moving? Starts out goofy then gets serious. Please R&R. Same Rati
1. What Fans Do to Other Fans

_Hello and welcome to Muse Quest, this being the tale of …fanatics! Here's a bit of background for this story. The Immies wrote this after reading Lady Coralie's "An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court" (which was abandoned.) If you wish to read that story it's located on theonering(dot)com. It's not really necessary to have read that before reading this. (And yes, it's late at night so my grammer bites…anyways.)  
Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

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_**Muse Quest Chapter One:  
**_**_What Fans Do to Other Fans_**

_"Come little ones, come round 'n I'll tell thee  
Of war, of lore, of Lady Coralie.  
In a time when deemed her writing would fail,  
The World of Real mixed with The World of Tale.  
Forth came a band of friends in that dark hour  
on a quest to find Inspiration's pow'r.  
Say the Lady will write when she chooses,  
But friends go to wake Coralie's Muses."_

"She hasn't written? STILL!" Dilly cried. The teacher looked up and sternly silenced her. Dilly snapped her mouth shut, and waited for the teacher to turn to the board again before leaning over the desk to her friend, Eredolyn. "This is getting ridiculous." She whispered. "Six months and Lady Coralie still hasn't come up with another chapter for 'Aussie in King Aragorn's Court'! What's she doing, sleeping on the job?"  
"Heck if I know," Eredolyn quietly answered, her eyes still up on the teacher.  
"But this is driving me insane! Everyday I check tolkienonline to see if she's written! I can't sleep at night, and I can barely get any homework done!"  
"I don't get any homework done at all!" Dilly interjected. "This is damaging to my high school career. If she doesn't write chapter 41 to her story and give me a peace of mind, I won't be surprised if I don't graduate this year!"  
"Have you noticed Lady Coralie hasn't been visiting any of the chat threads either?" Eredolyn said. "It's like she disappeared from the website altogether! From the face of the earth!"  
"Don't say that!" Dilly anxiously whispered. "I'm sure she'll write soon."  
"It's not good enough to hope and pray," Eredolyn countered. "We need to somehow MAKE Lady Coralie write!"  
The teacher looked in the girls' direction again, and with another stern glance she went on in her boring lecture.  
"How?" Dilly asked eagerly.  
"We'll just need to give her some...incentive."  
"What? You mean THREATEN her!" Dilly almost cried.  
"Why not? We can't ask, or even beg her to write. Tons of people have already tried that and to no avail. A threat is the only effective way."  
"What kind of a threat can we use?" Dilly asked incredulously. "She lives in Australia, we live in the U.S.! We don't have anything or anyone that Lady Coralie values or even KNOWS about!"

Just then, a girl walked into the classroom, drawing everyone's attention. She had big, curly red hair and a cheerful smile. She strode across the room to the teacher. Handing her a note she said "Sorry I'm late." The teacher excused her and the red-headed girl went to her seat. She was known to Dilly and Eredolyn as the E.I.Cebu (the meaning of this odd name is kept a secret in respect of E.I.Cebu's dignity). She was a major fan of LOTR, and had a love for Hobbits (particularly Frodo).( It is said that she actually corresponded with Lady Coralie for a time and had pleasant chats with her before the Lady stopped writing entirely.)

Dilly and Eredolyn glared at the red-head. She was the real reason for their foul mood. About a month ago, E.I.Cebu introduced the two friends to tolkienonline and inevitably to Lady Coralie's story, 'An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court'. Now they couldn't sleep at night, they were failing their classes, all because cheerful little E.I.Cebu introduced them to a story that would NEVER get finished.  
Unless of course, Lady Coralie was threatened...  
The glares of Dilly and Eredolyn curled into sly smiles as they looked at E.I.Cebu from across the room. Lady Coralie knew the red-head, and probably liked her. It would indeed be distressing to Lady Coralie if E.I.Cebu was in any way harmed...  
The two girls began whispering rapidly to each other. "I've got rope..."  
"I know where she lives..."  
"We can get her tonight..."  
"But wait!" Dilly cried. "Isn't that costume party at Caroline's house tonight?"  
Eredolyn groaned. Caroline, one of the elite seniors, was holding a huge costume-bash at her house for half of the graduating class.  
"We could always not go.." Dilly started.  
"Hold on! E.I.Cebu is going to the party! We can still go and enjoy ourselves until E.I.Cebu leaves the party; then we'll follow her. And when she thinks she's all safe in snug in her bedroom we'll come and we'll...KIDNAP HER!" Dilly and Eredolyn erupted into evil giggles.

While the two girls were snickering and plotting, E.I.Cebu hummed cheerfully to herself as she wrote in her English notes, looking forward to the fun she'd have at the costume party, completely ignorant to what awaited her that night.

* * *

"Looking for the Costume Party?" a strange-looking boy asked the dazed elf. Tuima stared around, completely lost. What had happened to Fangorn Forest? What was going on? "What?" she replied stupidly, staring bemused at his odd garb and wishing she had a belt to give him.  
"That way. It's two doors down." he pointed.  
She watched him go in consternation, and she followed, still wondering where in Middle Earth she was -- or if she was even IN Middle-earth.

The boy turned up the walk which led to a Hall of sorts. If it was a house then it was enormous. Dozens of youths were flocking through the main door, and the elf found herself being pushed into a crowded greeting room filled with head-pounding music. Just then a girl in much more normal clothing ? a long blue dress and cloak ? appeared and gestured to her. "C'mon in!" she said brightly.

The elf followed obediently, wondering at her strangely short hair. Tuima allowed herself to be pulled deeper into a crowded room by this strange new girl. She was still wondering distractedly where she was and how the girl had ended up with short hair. At least, she thought with relief, some people here were dressed normally, in cloaks, gowns, and robes. Then she spotted someone with a sinister looking mask and black cloak and began getting nervous all over again. Everyone was talking loudly and excitedly about... Tuima gasped. "The Lord of the Rings?" Sauron? With such enthusiasm? She had definitely fallen in with the wrong crowd. Then she heard the words Frodo and Ring used together and began to panic. No one was supposed to know about that!

_I have to find Haldir_, she thought frantically. _How did I get here anyway? One minute I'm scouting in Fangorn and the next I'm here!_ She glided as unobtrusively as possible outside into the night air. She stared. There was no forest -- hardly any trees at all. A broad road of a hard black substance crossed immediately in front of the house she had emerged from, and a tall pole glowed with an unnatural light on a corner.  
Tuima began breathing hard. _This isn't even middle-earth!_ she realized, horrified.

"Hey!" called a voice. Tuima spun. "What are you doing out here?" The speaker was a mortal with long dark hair and a green dress and curious crystal disks were in front of her eyes. Tuima eyed her nervously, surprised at the familiarity.  
"Great costume, by the way. What's your name?"  
"Aiwe Tuima, of Lorien. Can you tell me where I am?"  
"What, you don't know anyone here? Where's your ride?"  
Tuima looked blank.  
"Your car?" the girl asked.  
"Umm..." said Tuima.  
"Oh, don't worry, there are plenty of people who could drive you home. My name's Rachel, but in 'Rings company I'm Dilly. What's your real name?" Fortunately the girl continued, "Oh, well, we'll just call you... Aiwe, was it?"  
"I usually go by Tuima," the elf told her.  
"Sounds good," said Dilly happily. "Did one of the Immies invite you?"  
"The... what?"  
"Oh, one of the Immortals, we're presidents of the Lord of the Rings club at school. It's a great club, we have tons of fun... want to join?"

Tuima nodded in bewilderment and followed Dilly back into the house, telling herself fiercely not to lose such a good opportunity to scout out information from a valuable source. They didn't seem like enemies, but if they had a society devoted to Sauron, then it was definitely best to be on her guard and learn as much as possible about them so she could report it to Haldir. She refused to think about how she would accomplish this. She would find a way back. In the meantime... immortals? She hadn't seen a single elf so far, but on the way back in had received an unintelligible comment about "cool ears." She felt the points. They were not cold at all.

"Are you ok?" asked Dilly. Her only reply was yet another blank look. "You all right?" she repeated.  
"Fine," said Tuima brightly. She hated being so confused.  
"Guys," said Dilly, motioning toward a few other girls. Tuima wondered why she was talking about a guise. What were they faking? "This is Tuima of Lorien."

Everyone smiled broadly. "Hi Tuima," they said, as though even the name was part of some game, and introduced themselves as well: first there was Eredolyn, the girl with strange short hair who had previously invited Tuima in. Then there was Eicys, who claimed to be the younger sister of --curious name -- the E.I. Cebu.

"I was just telling her about Lady Coralie," said Dilly, and Tuima started guiltily, berating herself for being so inattentive.  
There was a massive groan and everyone launched into complaints. "Still no new chapter," groaned the short-haired girl, Eredolyn. "I can't take any more suspense," someone else cried.  
"What... I don't understand," said Tuima. She had been doing a lot of "not understanding" tonight.

But everyone broke into eager smiles and began telling her about a fantastic story, a tale the likes of which would rival even Luthien's. "C'mon, you have to read this as soon as possible," cried Eredolyn, seizing her arm and pulling. Tuima followed her to a strange box which lit up and, after a few buttons were pushed on a board nearby, displayed the first lines of a story entitled, "_An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court_." Tuima sat cautiously and began to read. And read. She read breathlessly until reaching chapter 40, then moved to look for the next one. There was nothing. "It's not finished!" she cried.  
"You noticed," said Eicys grimly.  
"But...but..." Tuima was horrified. "She can't just stop there!"  
"No, she can't!" Eredolyn agreed emphatically.  
"What can we do?" asked Tuima, distraught.  
Eredolyn cast Dilly a sideways glance. "Well…" she said slowly, a decidedly evil grin creeping over her face. "We have a plan of sorts, if you'd like to help?"  
"To get the Lady to write?" Tuima asked eagerly.  
"What's this about a plan?" asked the girl named Eicys, approaching them.  
Dilly eyed her. "She could help too," she told Eredolyn. "She is Cebu's sister, after all."  
Eredolyn nodded, the grin growing. "If this works, Coralie will have to write."  
"I'm in." Tuima and Eicys said decidedly and simultaneously.  
"OK," said Eredolyn, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Here's what we're going to do…"

* * *

And friends and readers, there you have it. The first chapter begins-Want to know what happens? Keep reading! 


	2. Of Closets and Gruel

**_Muse Quest Chapter Two: Of Closets and Gruel_**

_-Being the account of five fanatics and the desperate measures necessitated by the lack of Coralie's next chapter. ahem._

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The night wore on, and finally the big party was over. People began filing out of Caroline's house, thanking their host and snagging leftover cookies and chips. Tuima was happily munching on another brownie as she left the house with Dilly, Eicys, and Eredolyn. "I cannot cease eating this wonderful delight! It fills me with such wonder!" the elf declared.  
"Sheesh! The way she's going on, you'd think she never tasted chocolate before!" Eredolyn mumbled to Dilly.  
"Hold up!" Eicys cried, yanking back the distracted elf. "There she is – over there!"  
The girls backed down behind the exiting crowd of people when they spotted their redheaded target on the other end of the front lawn.  
"The E.I.Cebu," Dilly whispered solemnly.  
"That's the E.I.Cebu?" Tuima exclaimed. She studied the girl with poofy red hair: a harmless creature who had just enjoyed herself at a party and was now walking home, eating a leftover cookie. "But there's nothing evil about her!" the elf said.  
"...Did we say there was?" Dilly asked incredulously.  
"Hold a moment! When we were back inside, you explained to me that the only way this Lady Coralie would write her next chapter would be if we captured this E.I.Cebu. And I consented to help because I thought she was in some way hindering the Lady..."  
"She IS hindering Lady Coralie, in a way." Eicys explained. "If she isn't made a hostage to motivate Lady Coralie to start writing, then there probably won't ever BE a Chapter 41!"  
"This is a justified ransom, if you will." Dilly commented.  
"Although it grieves me to lock away my own sister," Eicys continued, "if it means that Lady Coralie will write her next chapter, then it is a sacrifice...I am willing to make."  
The girls softly applauded Eicys' moving speech. Then with stifled giggles and hard shushes, they crept down the street, soft as shadows, stalking the E.I. Cebu as she trotted merrily home.

* * *

The first thing the E.I.Cebu did after arriving home from the party was rush eagerly to her computer. She logged into and immediately headed to the Reading Room. With her heart pounding in anticipation she clicked on the Featured Authors and scrolled down to see if Lady Coralie's 44 articles had jumped to 45.  
She slumped back into her chair. No, it hadn't. With a deep sigh the E.I.Cebu half-heartedly checked the comments for Chapter 40 – "The Questioning" to see if there was any news from the Lady. She was disappointed once again. There wasn't anything from Lady Coralie, just a new post from Dilly. 

_"Thanks to the E. I. Cebu and her mouth... (I'm a friend of hers from school) I got caught up in your story. She will die soon if you don't post! (not really but please continue for her sake). But if not for her sake, do it for my sisters' sake. I tell them a new chapter every day and I am coming to the end! They will kill me! If you don't post soon, you are going to have a lot of dead people to answer for. Even just a comment now and then would be nice. Just so we know that YOU aren't dead."  
-Dilly_

She shivered, and not for the first time began to regret the day she had introduced her sister and her friends to the magic of Lady Coralie. Eicys had been acting so strange at the party, especially after getting together with Eredolyn and Dilly. Cebu did not like the way things were heading.  
A knock at her bedroom door startled her. She walked over and opened it to find Dilly, Eredolyn, and Eicys followed by a fourth person. The E.I.Cebu hadn't seen her at school, but was excited to meet her. The new girl had dark brown hair and the most realistic elf ears she had ever seen before. Surprised, she quickly invited them in, noting with a twinge of foreboding the coil of rope in their hands and the light of fanaticism in their eyes.  
"Hey guys!" she said brightly, trying to cover her apprehension. "What brings you all here?" Then, quickly deciding she'd rather not find out, she hurried on, "Who's the friend? I LOVE your ears!" she nodded towards the new girl.  
"Oh, this is Tuima." Eredolyn informed her. "We've just finished introducing her to _'An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court'_."

"Oh!" The E.I.Cebu gushed. "Isn't it GREAT! Let me tell you!" She sat back down on her swivel chair and slid smoothly to her computer. "Did you check out the new comments on Chapter 40? They say that there's a good chance Lady Coralie will post within the year!"  
"A year?" demanded Eredolyn, folding her arms. "No way are we going to wait that long."  
"But there's nothing else to do," Cebu insisted nervously.  
"Well, actually, there is," Dilly smirked.  
Cebu shivered. "What do you mean?"  
"Well...to tell you the truth old friend...we're desperate." Eredolyn confessed. "It's the absence of Chapter 41, and gosh darn it we're gonna do something about it."  
"That something includes you, E.I.Cebu." Tuima put in.  
"Me? But…" she stared at the circle of fanatics surrounding her. "Wait!" she began.  
"Get her!" cried Eicys.

The girls made a rush at their friend sitting helplessly at the computer desk. Cebu shrieked and sprang from her chair. Or rather attempted to spring; it is not easy making a getaway while sitting in a wheeled chair tucked close to a desk. She fell in a flurry of red hair, wires, mouse, and keyboard. Several keys popped loose and rained down on the advancing fanatics like a modern version of Gandalf's fireworks. As she scrambled to her feet, Cebu shoved her chair at the other girls and fled down the hall, keyboard letters falling from her curly hair.  
Tuima nimbly avoided the flying chair and streaked after the E.I. Cebu, the others close behind. Eredolyn was yelling some war-cry that sounded like an Old English translation of "For Coralie!"

Cebu snatched the back door open and hurtled across the dark backyard for the shelter of the woods that lay just beyond. She was grateful she had exchanged that costume for a t-shirt and jeans as she battled the tangled mass of scrub oak, getting her hair caught in the branches several times.  
The third time she stopped to wrench her impossible hair out of the twiggy trees, she felt someone grab her arms. She gasped in shock -- she hadn't heard anyone coming! -- and went down in a heap with Tuima on top, quickly joined by the others.

In the blink of an eye the E.I.Cebu was trussed up tighter than Frodo had ever been in Shelob's web. To her utter frustration the frail looking cord would NOT break!  
The successful party dragged her through the dark backyard, into the dim house, down the stairs to her room in the basement and with a not-so-gentle shove they tossed her into her closet and locked the door. She was a prisoner in her own home!  
"It's for your own good!" Tuima called through the keyhole.

* * *

"Lady Coralie is STILL not writing!" Dilly banged furiously on the already damaged keyboard. The group was lounging about in E.I.Cebu's bedroom, which had become their base of operations (it was extremely convenient that Cebu's parents were away for the week).  
Eicys jumped off of Cebu's bed and ran to the computer where Dilly was sitting. "It's been three days since we wrote Lady Coralie our threat! Doesn't she even care that one of her personal fans is being held hostage?"  
"Mmm-mmph!" was the reply from the closet.  
"Oh shut up!" Eredolyn called to the poor E.I.Cebu. "You had your gruel for today!"  
Eicys raced over to the door and sang the song from Oliver through the keyhole, taunting their prisoner:

_"Food, glorious foooooood!  
Hot sausage and mustard!  
While we're in the mooooood!  
Cold jelly and custard!"_

Tuima rose from her seat by the window. "The Lady must be hesitant to acquiesce; she would not desire to encourage such violent acts, nor might she be entirely confident of the verity of your message."  
Everyone stared at the elf in silence.  
"I thought I was a nerd," said Eredolyn finally.  
Then Eicys snapped her fingers. "Y'know what I think? I think Lady Coralie isn't taking our threat seriously!"  
"Oh!" Dilly nodded knowingly. "That makes sense."  
"That's what I just said!" protested Tuima.  
Eredolyn ignored her. "Well, we'll just have to turn to more drastic measures if Lady Coralie thinks this is all a joke!" she cried. She leaned over Dilly and began typing furiously on the keyboard.  
"Nothing TOO drastic, I hope." Tuima interjected.  
"Cebu deserves every ounce of what's comin' to her! She's the one that introduced us to Lady Coralie's writing, and has made us lose SLEEP at night because of it! Don't worry, Tuima. This is for a just cause. Oh, and take off those Halloween elf-ears already! They're probably moldy by now!"  
Tuima fingered her pointy ears and wondered whether she had just been given an insult. She decided to let the matter slide, and she leaned over Dilly, who was already being leaned over by Eredolyn, to see what message the girl was banging out now to Lady Coralie:

DEAR LADY CORALIE:  
YOUR FAILURE TO COMPLY TO OUR THREAT CONCERNING YOUR BELOVED FAN, THE E.I.CEBU, HAS FORCED US TO TAKE  
DRASTIC MEASURES. IF YOU DO NOT SUBMIT CHAPTER 41 OF 'AUSSIE IN KING ARAGORN'S COURT' TO THE READING ROOM BY TOMORROW, WE SHALL INFLICT UPON E.I.CEBU FAR WORSE TORTURES THAN CONFINEMENT IN A CLOSET AND THE DIGESTION OF GRUEL. WE SHALL USE...FURRY SPIDERS!

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_Laer4572-Hooray! You're the first reviewer! Thank you SO much! We've actually been working on this story for about 2 years now, but it doesn't seem that long. However, there are a lot of other stories and authors that seem to be needing a little inspiration aren't there? As soon as we're done with this story we'd like to do another one and I sure hope that you'll join us!_

_And to our other reviewer Black as the Shadows-Thank you for taking the time to tell us what you thought. That's what keeps us going!_

_And to everyone else who reads this if you could also let us know then we can fix problems (hopefully they're minor ones) and help us to make this the best that we can!  
__Thanks again everyone!_

_Love The Immies!_


	3. The Trouble With Elven Rope

**_Muse Quest Chapter 3: The Trouble With Elven Rope_**

_"Okay, this is now officially worse than Frodo in Shelob's Lair,"_ thought E.I.Cebu, as she sat miserably in the corner of her closet, reflecting on the horrible ordeal she'd been through not an hour before. Dilly and Eicys had opened the closet door and thrown in three very furry, very real, and very alive spiders. If there was one thing that struck fear into Cebu's heart, it was spiders.She screamed and wriggled about as she heard blaring through the door an added feature to her torture: track #11 of the ROTK soundtrack.  
"That'll get Lady Coralie to write for sure!" Cebu heard Eredolyn say.  
"How much longer do you think Cebu will last?" Tuima asked.  
The room erupted with unfeeling laughter. "Maybe," choked Dilly as tears leaked out of her eyes, "when Lady Coralie decides to grace us with a comment -- or this torture will never end!" After more laughter Tuima and Dilly finally opened the door again and took the spiders away from the cowering E.I.Cebu. Light from outside streamed in as Eicys gave a bowl of poorly made gruel to the prisoner, and then slammed the door. Dilly, Tuima, and Eredolyn, were now checking the chapter 40 comments for the third time in half an hour.  
"She hasn't even acknowledged our threat!" cried Dilly, exasperated. "You'd think the mere mention of furry spiders would be enough to send Coralie into a typing frenzy –– it certainly sends Cebu into a frenzy!" Cebu managed to thump her way around in the dark and press an ear against the closet door.  
"But Coralie doesn't even comment, and there's no sign of another chapter," Eredolyn sighed as she ran a hand through her close-cropped hair in frustration.  
"Wait!" cried Dilly. "Look at this! Some guy just wrote." On the comments of Chapter 40, a new post had come up boasting a creepy picture of an old man with a message saying:

_"Perhaps Coralie can comment, and perhaps she can't. It's entirely up to me at the moment!"- Olchir._

The four stared at each other in consternation. A muffled yelping came from the closet. "What's it say? What's it say?" Cebu cried. To appease the prisoner, Dilly read Olchir's message out loud. "Ooh, wait till I get my hands on you, creepy man!" cried Cebu, grunting as she strained against her bonds.  
Eicys rolled her eyes. "You're in no position to hunt down Olchir right now, sis!" she teased.  
"That's what you think!" came the reply. Eicys shot a nervous look at the others, who looked apprehensively at the closet door. If Cebu escaped, their last weapon was gone. But Tuima shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry, it's one of my knots. It won't come loose in a hurry. Besides, that's real elven rope I tied her with." There was a pause in which the other three rolled their eyes at one another.  
"But you don't think that was really Olchir, do you?" Dilly asked hesitantly.  
"Nah, couldn't be," said Eicys, trying to reassure herself.  
The girls dropped into silence. But Tuima, apparently not overly concerned about the message, plopped herself onto the Cebu's bed and picked up the last piece of food in the house, a package of stale graham crackers. She tore it open and nibbled on one, then made a face. "It's not my fault," said Eicys. "You guys have eaten us out of house and home. My mom's gonna have a fit when she gets back."  
"When does your mom get back?" asked Dilly nervously.  
"Not for a couple of days," said Eicys, trying a graham cracker.  
"What's going to happen if Coralie doesn't write by then?" asked Eredolyn, even more nervously.  
Eicys spit the cracker into the trash can and sat back down wearily. "Then we're out of luck," she sighed eventually.  
"Right," said Dilly firmly, seating herself in front of the computer again. "The time has come for drastic measures."  
"I thought furry spiders constituted 'drastic'," said Tuima.  
"Nope," Dilly told her, typing busily. "Fluffy Pillows is what really constitutes 'drastic'."  
"Fluffy Pillows!" cried the others, Cebu loudest of all. Dilly grinned wickedly and clicked 'done,' sending Coralie their latest threat.

* * *

Cebu lay quietly in the dark closet. The room was silent; Eredolyn, Dilly, and Tuima had left to buy or scrounge more food, declaring what was left in the house, "not fit for an orc." They had left only only Eicys to guard her, and after some arguing, insults, and Eredolyn's best honeyed voice, she had sulkily agreed. Now, however, Cebu could determine from the occasional sleepy murmur that Eicys was fast asleep –– and dreaming of food. Cebu bit her lip as she remembered her erstwhile friends' latest threat. She didn't know what Fluffy Pillows might be used for, but she wasn't going to hang around to find out. With three of her four captors gone, it would be now or never for her to break free. She sighed as she blinked in the darkness of her prison. At least she had her gruel spoon...

* * *

"Wow, that hit the spot!" Dilly smiled, now with a full stomach of hamburger and fries. The girls came back down to the basement carrying loads of hot Sonic Burger bags.  
"This should last us two more days at least," Eredolyn commented. When Dilly saw Tuima stagger nauseously behind them, she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Sheesh! Did you hear Tuima screaming while we were in the car? It's like she's never gone over 40 mph before!" The girls giggled and entered the room. But when they saw the shocking sight before them, they suddenly had nothing to giggle about. They dropped all of their bags when they saw Cebu's closet wide open, the elven rope tossed aside, and an empty bowl, minus one gruel spoon, abandoned in the makeshift prison. Mortified, the girls turned to the bed and found Eicys in peaceful slumber. Exploding with rage, Eredolyn grabbed one of the burger bags and began beating Eicys over the head with it.  
"No! Stop!" Dilly cried. "That one has the onion rings in it!"  
"Of all the careless, stupid-!" Eredolyn yelled.  
"OW! OW! STOP!" Eicys squealed, shielding her head from Eredolyn's wrath. "What did I ever do to you!" Eredolyn pulled her up and pointed towards the empty closet. Eicys gaped. "Oh, uh...that. But...how did she..!" Dilly examined the empty bowl. "Her gruel spoon," she muttered. "She picked the lock. But HOW did she get out of this?" Dilly held up the limp, silver rope which still held one intricate knot. Eredolyn grabbed at it and became enraged when it promptly fell apart as smoothly as if it were a slip knot. She whirled on Tuima.  
"So, it's one of YOUR knots, and it won't come loose in a hurry, huh!"  
"Its real elvish rope." Tuima said simply.  
"And what is that supposed to mean?"  
"Elven rope will come undone if you command it to." Tuima said. "But I thought that Cebu, being a mortal, wouldn't think of that." Now it was Dilly's turn to get upset. Eicys held her back as she spat at Tuima,  
"That's IT! I'm sick of you sighing over 'the wonder of chocolate' and screaming every time the car goes over 50! I'm sick of staring at your Halloween ears and wondering when they're going to fall off! And now you're acting high and mighty with your 'magic rope' and pretending to be some kind of IMMORTAL!"  
Tuima drew herself up full height, eyes flashing, thoroughly ready to reveal that she was in fact an under warden of Lothlorien and daughter of an Elven Lord to boot, but Eicys jumped in and said "Look! Pinning blame on people isn't going to help us here! Cebu has escaped. But she only has, what, an hour head-start?" The others nodded, distracted from their quarrel.  
"So we can get her easily," said Tuima. "Let's think logically -- she couldn't have gone out of the front door, because it was still locked when we came back."  
"So that means Cebu went out the back!" Dilly said. "Into the woods!"  
"All right, gang! Forget the next batch of gruel and fluffy pillows for now!" Eredolyn cried."We're going on a hunt! We must retrieve The E.I.Cebu or else we will have no power to make Lady Coralie write! Let's suit up and move out!" The girls shuddered at the thought of Lady Coralie never writing Chapter 41, so Eicys immediately rooted through every closet in her house for dark clothing, while Dilly found some black paint and smeared it on everyone's faces. Eredolyn and Tuima stuffed as many hamburgers as they could into backpacks while bee bee and paint ball guns were distributed and loaded with cotton balls.  
"Fellow torturers! The hunt is on!" Eredolyn declared. "Oh, and the next time someone wants to feed a prisoner, forget the gruel spoon! Just FLING the freakin' gruel at them!"

* * *

_Coming soon: "Into the Woods"! (In which the fanatics ... Meet someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?)_


	4. Into the Woods

_**Muse Quest Chapter 4: Into the Woods**_

_Recap: After taking Cebu hostage to ensure that Coralie will write the next chapter of "An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court," the remaining four fanatics (Eicys, Cebu's sister; Eredolyn & Dilly, her school friends; and Tuima, an elf of Lorien who has somehow found her way into the future) torture her with spiders and threaten her with Fluffy Pillows. But Cebu escapes into the woods behind her house. The four set out to recapture her, thus assuring the continuation of Coralie's story!

* * *

_

Tuima snatched at a dark green bundle under Cebu's bed; two long elvish knives in intricately tooled scabbards fell as she shook out the fabric to reveal her woolen cloak and hood. She hurriedly strapped the daggers to her back, whirled the cloak over her shoulders, and dashed after her impatiently calling friends.  
"Come on," cried Eicys, already halfway out the door.  
"Two seconds!" panted Dilly, struggling with her unwieldy pack and even more unwieldy paintball gun.  
Eredolyn finished stuffing their ammunition (several bags of FacialPuff cottonballs) into her own pack and leapt down the porch steps. "Hit the backyard lights, would you, Tuima?" she called over her shoulder. The elf looked at her blankly and there was a long pause.  
"Oh, boy," groaned Eicys. "I'll do it." She flipped a switch and they all blinked as the backyard was flooded with light, casting the small tangled forest of scrub oak into sharp relief. Tuima threw up a hand, squinting at the bright lanterns. She had never gotten used to the strange methods of illumination these even stranger mortals used.  
Her sharp ears caught disgusted muttering behind her. Dilly had managed to get her pack on over the bulky coat she was wearing, but had now knocked those crystal disks she wore called glasses askew so that they perched precariously on the end of her nose.

Tuima shook her head surreptitiously, but Dilly noticed and glowered at her before shoving her glasses back into their proper position and bounding down the steps after Eredolyn. "So, let's spread out and comb the woods, moving… what's it? she hazarded a guess: "North?"  
"West," said Tuima.  
"Fine," snapped Dilly. The two of them glared at each other and Tuima shut the door rather harder than was necessary before taking her position on the end of the line furthest from Dilly.  
"Move out, troops!" cried Eredolyn, waving them onward.  
Eicys looked at her askance before following the others into the shadowy woods.

There was relative silence, save the snapping and crunching of twigs and dead leaves on the ground, broken by a cry. "Ow!"  
"What? What happened?" Eredolyn whispered.  
"I stubbed my toe!" Dilly muttered furiously. "I swear, I can't see a thing out here!"  
Tuima glanced curiously at the night sky. "There is a quarter moon already risen. Does it not provide enough light?"  
Eredolyn intervened before Dilly's glare melted a hole through the supposedly masquerading elf. "Don't you have your glasses?" she asked.  
"Yes! So I don't understand why everything's blurry, but it's practically making me cross-eyed. And I'm hungry. Got any extra gruel?"  
"Would you two be quiet? The E.I. Cebu could hear us a mile off!" the elf reprimanded the two mortals. Honestly, it was like they had never been on a hunt before! All conversation ceased, and the night forest noises once again resumed, until Dilly tripped again and went sprawling. There was a tinkling noise of shattering glass.

"AAARRGH!" Dilly cried, scrambling among the fallen leaves. "My glasses! They're broken! I can't see anything without… my?" she stopped and stared around her, then stood up, still holding the twisted frames. "What's going on? Everything's all clear! I can see everything! I can see… Cebu's tracks!"  
"Where?" the others crowded around Dilly.  
"Look here!" said Tuima, crouching to examine the prints. "See, she's moving this way?" Tuima followed the tracks, bent over and pointing out signs of Cebu's progress through the woods. A broken twig, some displaced leaves, an indentation in the moss she showed them to her friends, who began to look increasingly bored. When Tuima triumphantly showed them the fourteenth bent grass blade, Eredolyn groaned loudly. "Wow," she said, dripping sarcasm all over the forest floor.  
"Thrilling," commented Dilly, adding to the puddle.  
"Riveting," said Eicys, flooding them all out.  
"Well, Tuima's enjoying herself," said Eredolyn. And she was.  
"It's just like tracking in Fangorn again!" Tuima sighed happily. "This place even looks like Fangorn! I remember when Haldir and I…" she stopped and blushed. They were staring at her again.  
"Weelll…" said Dilly finally. "While Tuima's on her fantasy trip… I'm still hungry."  
"Me too," said Eredolyn. They watched Tuima a while longer. "Well, she seems to be on top of things." There was a pause. ?Eicys, go find us some more gruel."

Eicys stomped off grumbling. _Why do I have to bring the gruel? I don't even like gruel! Just because I accidentally let Cebu have the spoon, I have to do all the work. Why does the youngest always get left behind?  
_She trudged through the forest until it began to thin out and she could see her house's backyard light. She stomped into the empty and dark house still muttering dire imprecations against selfish older fanatics.  
She started some water boiling, then sat down at the computer to quickly check Coralie's story. She gasped. Coralie herself had commented! Eicys dashed to the stove and poured in the gruel mix, then frantically skimmed the Lady's message. 

_**I am busy and still trying to hunt down my muse. If you see her...Send her my way...quick smart! **_

Eicys sat back in sudden shock. Muse? The germs of an idea began to sprout in her mind.

* * *

The three girls stopped at a large sign that proclaimed: OLCHIR'S SUMMER RETREAT- KEEP OUT! 

"Cebu was definitely out to get Olchir, and her tracks lead past the sign…" said Eredolyn hesitantly. All three felt a chill down their spines at the symbol of the white hand stamped on the warning. "There's nothing for it" Eredolyn said eventually. "We'll just have to follow Cebu."  
The three of them gulped. Tuima checked her knives and Dilly switched off the safety catch on her paintball gun. They moved forward hesitantly, then came to an abrupt halt.  
The woods had suddenly cut off and the three were left staring over a wide plain at a tall, horned black tower in the distance.  
"Hey," said Dilly vaguely. "That looks like…"  
"Get back!" cried Tuima, pulling the others to safety behind a broad tree.  
"Tuima, we're still in Cebu's backyard. What could possibly happen?"  
"This is no backyard forest. This is Middle-earth!" cried Tuima. "We make for the Cebu's bedroom. We should never have come here. Now get out of here, get out!"  
Just then, Eredolyn let out a scream as something grabbed her around the ankle and hauled her backward into the woods.

* * *

_Please comment! We're still sorta wandering (in more ways than one), but this is where the story really starts gettin' good! Love, the Immies _


	5. Fangorn and Uruks and Elves oh MY!

**_Muse Quest: Chapter 5: Fangorn and Uruks and Elves…Oh My!_**

_Here's the usual disclaimer and all:  
Hello and welcome to Muse Quest, this being the tale of …fanatics! Here's a bit of background for this story. The Immies wrote this after reading Lady Coralie's "An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court" (which was abandoned.) If you wish to read that story it's located ontheonering(dot)com It's not really necessary to have read that before reading this. (And yes, it's late at night so my grammer bites…anyways.)Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters, which are mentioned briefly.  
__We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

Eredolyn screamed as something grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back into the forest. The others screamed, too, and after a shocked pause, threw themselves back into the tangled undergrowth, determined to rescue their friend. Eredolyn's screams echoed off the trees just ahead, then suddenly stopped.  
Fearing the worst, the other two battled their way through the branches into the small clearing around the sign they'd seen earlier, where they saw a horrific sight – a circle of snarling Uruk-Hai, one of whom was still dangling Eredolyn upside down by her ankle. Their screams redoubled in volume, but Eredolyn made an impatient shushing motion (difficult to do while hanging by one's foot).

"Look, you guys!" she gushed excitedly. "Orcs!" The Uruks bared their teeth at the duo, who were gripping their weapons and staring in various degrees of shock and fear. "No, seriously!" cried Eredolyn. "They're real! Don't they look just like you imagined? They even smell bad!"  
The orc holding Eredolyn dropped her unceremoniously on the ground, unsheathed his scimitar, and snarled, "We do not!"  
"Eredolyn!" hissed Dilly. "Stop that!"  
Eredolyn, however, was still beaming at the fulfillment of her greatest dream – to someday see Middle-earth. "This is amazing!" she cried. "These guys are even bigger than the Kiwis that played them in the movies! Hey, Uruk-hai! Can you do that whole head-butting thing?"  
"Back away slowly…" muttered Tuima.  
"From the orcs or from the madwoman?" Dilly whispered caustically.  
"Both," said Tuima firmly, and took a step back – into the waiting grip of another Uruk. Her knives promptly scythed through his arm, spattering her with black blood as she stumbled away.  
"Urgh ," commented Dilly. She looked as though she was about to say something else, or perhaps vomit, but only managed to croak, "Ugh ," again before an orc seized her around the middle, pinning her arms to her sides. Dilly sniffed. "You guys do smell bad," she noted. "Yech."  
"No, 'yrch'," said Tuima, now in a fighter's crouch. She was holding two Uruks at bay with her knives, but a third came up unnoticed behind her and landed a hefty thwack on the side of her head with the flat of his weapon. Tuima swayed alarmingly, and the orcs took advantage of the opportunity to relieve her of her weapons before she slumped to the ground. "Ow," she said, clutching her head, and passed out.  
"Hey!" said Eredolyn indignantly. She seized Dilly's fallen paintball gun and unleashed a barrage of cottonballs on the enemy, who merely looked tickled by her efforts (in more ways than one). Roaring with ugly laughter, they batted the feeble weapon from her hands and in moments she was trussed up as securely as the Cebu had ever been in her closet. And speaking of Cebu…

The orcs tossed the tightly bound girls into a heap at the side of the clearing. Of the three, only Eredolyn landed softly – on top of the prone form of the E.I. Cebu.  
"Oof! Watch it – oh. Fancy seeing you three here!"  
All she got in response was two glares and a groan (from Tuima, who was already coming to). Cebu laughed nervously. "Uh, so… Where's Eicys?" she asked, making a brave stab at conversation.  
The attempt fell flat as the other two executed a flawless "_Shun_," turning as far as possible when tightly bound in orcish rope.

Some time later, Dilly was still squirming around, trying to avoid the omnipresent tree roots. She closed her eyes once again, audibly sighing.  
Eredolyn laughed. "You can't sleep either, huh?"  
"Are you kidding?" asked Dilly without even opening her eyes. "Please tell me you're kidding."  
Eredolyn was about to respond when Tuima interrupted "Excuse me, I was just having a wonderful dream about chapter 41, and you woke me up!"  
Dilly and Eredolyn laughed bitterly. "Well we have our wonderful E. I. Cebu to thank for being here in the first place. Stinkin' redhead."  
The E.I.Cebu had been trying to sleep, but at this uncalled for remark, her blue eyes flew open and glared daggers at the three. "So you think being a redhead has something to do with this?" She tried to gesture to the surrounding trees and the orcs snoozing beneath them, looking like a wriggling fish in the process. The three made no attempt to conceal their snickers as the E.I.Cebu struggled to sit up.  
"Come off , stupid ropes!" she hissed at her bonds, pulling them taut. "Ow!"  
The others' snickers only increased. "Yha, like that'll work," said Eredolyn.  
"Well, it did last time," Cebu said nonchalantly, enjoying her friends' outraged looks. "Well it did! I got mad and yelled at the ropes and they fell right apart. You can't've tied those knots too well." She looked at Tuima smugly.  
Tuima huffed indignantly. "How many times? It's real elvish rope ! It had nothing to do with my knots – which I have spent several hundred years perfecting, by the way!"  
"Come off the whole elf thing already!" Dilly snapped. "In fact," she thumped her way over to where Tuima lay calmly propped against a tree, "you can just take those stupid, fake, plastic, pointless, ugly Halloween ears off right now!" With that, she seized the point of one of Tuima's ears with her bound hands and gave it a vicious tug.  
"Ow!" shrieked Tuima. "Let go!"  
Dilly did so promptly, her eyes the size of saucers.  
"Eredolyn…" she whispered slowly, never taking her eyes off the irritated elf. "Ere, her ears … are stuck to her head…" Her voice rose in pitch and intensity, and she covered her face. "This is just too much!"  
"Are you kidding!" Eredolyn demanded incredulously. "This is great! Not only is Isengard a few miles away, not only have we met up with a real live band of Uruk-Hai, but now we get to be tied up next to an elf!"  
"Wha… I… how… What? " Tuima stammered, outraged and confused. "What is wrong with… How…" she stuttered hopelessly, then finally threw her arms in the air and swore very nastily indeed in Sindarin.  
The others ignored her completely. Dilly, still clutching her face in her hands, was rocking and moaning, "Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no oh no! This cannot be happening to me… Wake up , Dilly!"  
Eredolyn was talking jubilantly to no one about all the implications of their arrival in Middle-Earth, jabbering about "so many miles to Bree, and Lothlorien, and Rohan, and…!"  
Cebu was not listening to either, instead talking around and through the frustrated Tuima. "Wow, so I was tied up with real elvish rope? Wow, I have rope from Middle Earth in my closet! I hope the others left it there… wow!" But she stopped mid-exaltation at a comment from Eredolyn, who was still happily conversing with a tree, thrilled that it was a Fangorn tree.  
"And then if we travel far enough, we might run into the Fellowship – Aragorn and Legolas and Frodo and –"  
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" shrieked Cebu joyously. The confused jumble of conversation sputtered to a halt.  
"What?" asked Eredolyn. Then, as a dreamy lassitude crept over the Cebu's face, she and Dilly groaned loudly and simultaneously, "Oh, no. "  
"What's wrong?" demanded Tuima anxiously.  
"She's obsessed with Frodo," Eredolyn sighed.  
"Beyond obsessed," agreed Dilly. "Infatuated." Tuima was still looking blank, so Dilly turned to point at the redhead. "Just look at her," she gestured hopelessly.  
Cebu was sighing rapturously and murmuring about "dreamy big blue eyes…"  
Tuima looked very concerned. "What's wrong with her?" she asked.  
But before Dilly could answer, Cebu interrupted gleefully. "We might even meet him, and then… You guys, we have to escape!"  
"But I want to watch the orcs some more," protested Eredolyn.  
"Forget the orcs! We got a Halfling to find!"  
"What's tha' you said?" a nearby Uruk demanded unexpectedly, stalking closer to the trussed-up friends. "Somethin' abou' a halfling?"

Tuima hissed at Cebu in horrified protest, but it was too late. The redhead carried on joyfully, "Yes, he's absolutely gorgeous, and so brave, with that awful ring and all those Nazgul, and the big eye whenever he puts it on…"  
Tuima buried her face in her hands and bit her bonds fiercely to muffle the scream (they tasted horrible). The orc was looking at the group with a kind of curious appraisal that she did not like at all. Finally, he lumbered away and began conversing in hurried whispers with the Uruk captain (Tuima could tell he was the captain, because he was the biggest and smelliest). As soon as they were out of earshot Tuima slid over to where the Cebu was still gushing about the Ringbearer, and administered a sharp smack to the top of her head.  
"Ouch!" cried Cebu, rubbing it as best she could with her hands tied. "What was that for? That hurt! " She scowled at the group. "You chase me down, tie me up, throw me in a closet, torture me with spiders, and now you hit me? What kind of friends are you guys?"

Tuima took a deep breath and launched into a tirade the likes of which had not been seen since Fingolfin challenged Morgoth to single combat. "Listen up, the whole hopeless, useless, moonstruck lot of you!" She continued in that vein for some time, degenerating occasionally into elven insults and swearing in at least six languages. The others stared in fascinated horror as she denounced them to every Vala and Maia known to the Eldar and questioned their ancestors for seven generations.  
"…This may be a fantasy trip in the woods for the rest of you, but it's my home, and if I wasn't afraid of being stuck in your ridiculous world again I would escort the rest of you out of this one right now , but in the meantime, we are stuck here surrounded by orcs, and what do you do? Reveal the most dangerous secret in the history of all Arda for them to hear! Do you realize what this means?"  
There was a ringing silence, broken only by Tuima's ragged breathing. Then Eredolyn said in quiet awe, "We just got yelled at by an elf."  
Tuima raised her hands, shrieked uselessly at the stars, and burst into inconsolable tears.

* * *

_And there you have it….Chapter 5. I know it's a little short, but life happens. The following chapters will become longer never fear. It took us a while to find our style. Beware!  
__We want to give a MAJOR shoutout to our ONE commentator! Laer4572! We thank you!  
__Now I'm planning on still posting all of our chapters even though no one is posting, and while I won't waste away from grief and sadness if no one else posts, it still would be nice to read what you all think about it. It doesn't have to be some long complex… analyzing… thing, but we would just like to hear from you!  
__Thanks again!  
__Love Cebu_


	6. Captives and Arrows

_**Muse Quest Chapter 6: Captives and Arrows  
**__In which they begin to think Middle-earth isn't all it's cracked up to be...

* * *

_

For a long time the girls lay quietly. Tuima was curled into a miserable ball, her back to the others. She could plainly hear their whispers: "I think we hurt her feelings."  
"What did we do?"  
"You probably shouldn't have said that about Frodo, Cebu." There was a pause, then… "No, Cebu – Stop that -- Snap out of it!"  
"Wha – oh. Sorry."  
Tuima rolled her eyes and shifted so she could see the stars, picking out the familiar constellations until the urge to continue her earlier outburst passed. She tried to take comfort in the idea that despite the fact that her companions had just doomed themselves and all Arda to annihilation, the stars, at least, would remain. She was failing miserably.  
"Look," Dilly was saying. "We have to be serious about this, you guys. We're in real trouble. Eicys is missing, there are orcs all around us, we've got no way to escape and frankly nowhere to escape to, and the only person who knows what she's doing out here is sulki… really mad at us."  
Tuima ground her teeth. "You've forgotten the fact that you just betrayed the free peoples of Middle-earth to slavery and destruction," she said, without even turning around.  
"Uh, yes. That too," said Dilly lamely. She'd forgotten about Elven hearing. "What we're trying to say is… Well, sorry, Tuima."  
The elf took a final look at the stars, sighed, and turned to face them. "It's all right. Well, no – it isn't. But I blame myself; I should have sent you back as soon as we reached Fangorn."  
"But then we wouldn't have made it to Middle-Earth!" cried Eredolyn.  
Tuima gave her a look that plainly said, "_Exactly_."  
"We most likely wouldn't have believed you anyway," said Dilly reasonably.  
"Most likely," Tuima agreed, entirely too quickly. The other three fidgeted uncomfortably in the ensuing pause.  
Cebu broke the silence with a would-be cheery comment: "Hey…The orcs seem excited about something…!"  
They all turned to listen to the escalating argument, three of them very relieved to have something to focus on instead of the elf's stony face. But their relief quickly turned to apprehension as they realized what the uruks were arguing about: the fate awaiting their prisoners.

* * *

Dragging fresh hot gruel into the woods was no easy chore. But after seeing Lady Coralie's most recent comment on Tolkien Online, and constantly running it through her head, Eicys' mind was buzzing with excitement.

"_**If you see a muse, send her my way quick smart!"**_

"She wrote she wrote she wrote…" Eicys chanted euphorically to herself as she slogged through the tangled undergrowth. "Chapter 41 has gotta come out soon, and then no more chasing Cebu through dark woods… thank goodness!"  
But a jumble of strange harsh voices jerked her out of her reverie. There was a sound like a cross between a human cursing and an animal snarling: it was the most unnatural thing she had ever heard.  
"Tuima... Dilly... Eredolyn… is that you?" Eicys piped softly into the darkness. Again a grating roar of angry voices came from the trees ahead, and Eicys, shoving the warm plastic bags of gruel in her sweater to better fight her way through the brush, peered over a tangle of branches and got the surprise of her life.  
A circle of huge brutish-looking creatures were bellowing furiously at one another, gripping dangerous-looking scimitars and snarling. It took a moment for Eicys to realize the horrible noise they were making was language, and one she could understand.  
"One scrawny human mentions a piece of jewelry and you turn so dutifully loyal, hey?" screeched one of the smaller brutes. "I'd no be s'prised to find you was just tryin' to cheat yer mates outta some well-deserved fun – thought you'd have 'em all teh yerself this way, did you, Gharluk?"  
Gharluk howled barbarically, snatched a spear from a companion, and hurled it at the speaker. The smaller creature caught the missile in his arm and toppled heavily to the ground, from which position he screamed obscenities and accusations in a tongue Eicys was relieved she didn't know. But Gharluk just shouted over the uproar: "Anyone else?"  
Several of the orcs – Eicys had decided in shock that they could hardly be anything else – hefted crude weapons, but no one moved forward. After a pause, one of them asked in a snarling whine, "Why can't we have some fun wi' 'em – just a little, hey, Captain? We could give 'em to the master after, wi' none the wiser."  
"I'm takin' no chances with any vermin as what know about the master's Halflings," Gharluk growled.  
"Gone soft, are ye, Captain?" hissed an orc with an enormous scar across his face. "C'mon, now, we could just have one of them… this girlie here, say." He leered at someone lying in the shadow of an enormous tree.  
_"Dilly_!" gasped Eicys in horror. Now she could make out other forms, three others, one of whose flyaway red hair marked her plainly as Eicys' sister, Cebu. Eicys clenched her fists. These beasts had no right to tie up Cebu! That was a privilege reserved for her sister alone.

Eicys cast about frantically for a weapon, anything… but all she had were the bags of hot gruel. She began tugging one out, but froze in terror as she saw the scarred orc slowly wrench back his crossbow and point it tauntingly at each of the girls in turn. They stared up at him with varying expressions of defiance, fear, and – in Eredolyn's case – fascination. "It looks just like Lurtz's bow, doesn't it?" she whispered to Cebu.  
The orc started. "How d'ye know about Lurtz?" he demanded. "Talk!" His grin broadened maliciously, and he pulled the arrow back further.  
"Enough!" bellowed Gharluk. "It's just more proof that they's valuable. We's takin' 'em to the master, unspoiled. But I'll put in a word fer some brave uruks what deserve some fun. If he don't want 'em, I'll tell Sharkey to give 'em back to us."  
His words were met with a roar of approval, and the scarred orc nodded reluctantly and shot his arrow into the ground at Dilly's feet. She flinched and the brutes roared with unfeeling laughter before seizing the captives. Cebu stumbled and fell with her face next to the forgotten arrow, and lay there panting until she was grabbed and shoved upright with the others in the center of the clearing.  
"Now march, ye maggots, or the fun'll start here an' now," said Gharluk, curling a whip lazily through his fingers. He snapped it at their legs and the four jumped away from the lash, beginning their march toward Isengard.

* * *

For a long time, Eicys followed at a careful distance, walking quietly and thinking hard. But apparently she wasn't walking quietly enough, or the orcs had some other sense that alerted them to her presence, because the captain suddenly raised a fist and the company halted. He held a quiet conversation with a small red-eyed orc that Tuima recognized as a tracker. Her sharp ears caught snatches of Gharluk's instructions: " – Another one – " "Bring back…" "Call if you need – "  
The elf's heart leapt, then as quickly sank. Eicys was out there, and free – but for how long? She hissed the news to the others before the orc captain turned around, fingering his whip threateningly. With a suspicious glare at the four, he called out orders to halt and rest, muttering about defense being more difficult on the move.  
The girls sagged against each other, panting and nursing the sores left by the restraining bonds on their ankles.  
"Cebu, you're bleeding!" said Dilly suddenly. Indeed, a trickle of red was running from the corner of Cebu's mouth.  
The redhead nodded and grimaced. "Itchy," she said, her voice oddly muffled, then bent her head to her wrists. It looked as though she were gnawing at the ropes.  
"Cebu, what're you doing?" asked Eredolyn curiously.  
Cebu looked up, and they saw a black point protruding from her mouth like a bizarre tongue. "I shnap'd the head off tha' ahrrow," she explained thickly. "I'sh really shar'." She returned to hacking at the ropes, her hair swaying madly around her face as she sawed. Suddenly, **Snap!  
**"What was that?" asked Tuima, startled.  
"At wis un of my rohts."  
"Come again?"  
"I think she said, 'that was one of my ropes'," translated Eredolyn.  
"Ah…" Tuima watched the girl sawing at the last fraying strand binding her wrists, then commented wistfully, "You do realize that it's a common practice with orcs to dip their arrows in poison?"  
Cebu looked up, shocked, then violently spat out the arrowhead. "You could have said something earlier!" she snapped.  
"I thought everyone knew that," the elf said in tones of mild surprise.  
"You know something, Tuima?" Dilly said conversationally. "You're a jerk."  
Tuima looked taken aback, then smoothed her features into an expression of elven calm that made Dilly's blood boil. Cebu ignored them both, scrabbling in the dirt to retrieve the arrowhead. "Just one more strand…" she muttered, straining, then lost her balance and collapsed as an orc kicked her unexpectedly in the ribs.  
"Stop lickin' rocks!" snarled the orc. "And what was that snapping noise?"  
"Um…" Eredolyn started, but she was interrupted by the return of the tracker orc. He shambled triumphantly into the clearing, bearing a shredded and bloody sweater and a plastic bag that slowly dripped gruel into the awful silence.  
"Eicys!" whispered Cebu. "Oh no… Eicys!" 


	7. A Bunch of Coconuts

_**Muse Quest Chapter 7: A Bunch of Coconuts**_

_Hello and welcome to Muse Quest, this being the tale of …fanatics! Here's a bit of background for this story. The Immies wrote this after reading Lady Coralie's "An Aussie in King Aragorn's Court" (which was abandoned.) If you wish to read that story it's located on tolkienonline(dot)com. It's not really necessary to have read that before reading this. Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
__We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

Eicys crashed through the tangled forest in a blind panic, her pounding heart drowning the sound of her pursuer. The trees creaked menacingly, but they seemed to offer a shred of hope: Eicys flung herself towards a low-hanging branch and frantically kicked her way up. She reached for the next branch, and without warning or breath of wind, the tree groaned and shifted, dumping her flat on her back – and staring helplessly up at a leering goblin face. Eicys shrieked, but before she could do anything, the tracker orc pulled out a long dagger and stabbed her straight in the stomach. Both of them stared as blood slowly leaked from the wound. Gray, lumpy, gruel-y blood.

The orc was so surprised to see his quarry bleeding gruel, he let go of the dagger and stumbled away. Eicys, numb and shuddering with shock, yanked the weapon from the ruined plastic baggie under her sweater and without even thinking plunged it straight into the goblin's throat. The creature gurgled and kicked out its hideous life at her feet, blood spattering everywhere, and when it finally went limp Eicys staggered away into the trees and retched until her breath came in sobs. Finally she fell to her knees, exhausted, and surveyed the blood-spattered mess before her. She wanted to cry. She tugged out the last few bags of gruel from where she'd stowed them under her sweater and let them drop listlessly to the ground. Through a haze she could make out the far-off sound of the Uruk's encampment, and suddenly decided that those fanfics she so much loved had been unrealistic in the extreme. She'd always wanted to see Middle-earth, but now, given the choice, she'd trade every particle for a hot bath and safe bedroom – and perhaps a fluffy pillow or two.  
Something about the sight in front of her made her feel like a little girl again, and all she wanted to do was hide somewhere and never come out. Instead, she struggled to her feet. Those monsters had her sister, and her friends, and she wasn't about to let them get away with it. Clenching her teeth, she gingerly approached the orc lying sprawled among the leaves, and began to strip off its armor.

* * *

Half an hour later, a small orc shambled into the Uruk camp, holding up a torn sweater and punctured gruel bag to show the captain. He grunted and waved it back into the ranks, but Eicys managed to throw a wink at her friends before disappearing into the crowd.  
"That foul disgusting maggot!" shrieked Cebu as the goblin winked. "How dare he! Where's my sister!" She lunged forward with her bound hands outstretched, tears of fear and fury staining her face. Dilly grasped futilely at the back of her shirt, but Cebu continued her attempts to reach the orc until a she had the feet kicked from under her by the same uruk who had overheard her escape attempts.  
"No more o' that, hear?" he demanded. "Now answer me! What was that snappin' noise?" Cebu just stared at him defiantly. The orc raised his fist, and Dilly hurriedly intervened. "Oh...uggh. Mmm..." she stretched out her neck and back, "Just my back. It's been creaking and snapping ever since you threw me down here like a ton of bricks!" She paused. "Tuima's been snapping loudest of all," she commented pointedly.  
"The elf?" asked their captor, guffawing stupidly. Tuima leveled a narrow gaze at Dilly before turning her full freezing glare on the uruk. He stopped laughing abruptly. Angry tarqs had that effect on orcs.  
"Well stop yer snappin' or ya won't have no bones left ta snap!" the orc said, in an effort to save face. He stomped off muttering.  
"That was close," breathed Dilly. Then she noticed Cebu scrabbling on the ground again.  
"What are you doing?" she hissed. Cebu sat up with the arrowhead back in her mouth and resumed sawing on her ropes. The others watched in horror as the strands frayed.  
"No! Cebu, don't do it!" whispered Dilly, but her friend didn't seem to hear. Then Eredolyn acted on instinct. "Everyone! Start singing!" "Singing?" Dilly demanded skeptically.  
"Yes! The noise will drown out the snapping! QUICK! SING!"  
After some confused muttering, everyone began picking up the song 'I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.' And of course the same orc came back again.  
"What are ye doin' NOW?" he growled.  
"Well, we're singing." Eredolyn replied coolly.  
"Ya know what I'm gonna do now?" he snarled, drawing out a knife.  
"You won't do anything," Eredolyn said, "because you said you'd do something only if you heard snapping ro...uh, Tuima's bones snapping, that is. And they weren't snapping!"  
The orc looked even blanker than usual. "Ya call yer screechin' singin'?"  
"Yes. It's called 'I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts'."  
"Well let's hear it then!" He grinned threateningly.  
More confident now, since the orc wasn't going to kill them after all, the three captives bunched themselves around Cebu to hide her sawing, and started singing: _"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, deedilydeedee There they are a' standing in a row… Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head-"  
_Right there the group ended abruptly, because of course no one knew how the rest of the song went.  
The orc laughed, "well, yous utter one more peep n' I'll cut yer TONGUES out!" and departed.  
"So… how does the song end?" Tuima whispered.  
Eredolyn looked almost as blank as the orc had. "I dunno… never thought about it before. Huh."  
Tuima seemed to take this as further proof that her fellow captives were a few branches short of a mallorn, and merely looked resigned.

The news of Eicys' demise seemed to have been the signal the orcs were waiting for; they began gathering supplies and moving off. The four captives were once again hauled to their feet and made to march. But Cebu refused to move. The orcs cursed roundly in their snarling language, but nothing could be done. Cebu had no intention of reaching Orthanc, at least not with her hands tied. And worry about her sister made her so bravely defiant that even when the orc captain used his whip, the only movement he forced out of her was a shambling walk, bumping into the other girls so that they would conveniently fall. Tuima began to smile grimly, and they all joined in with a will, stumbling so frequently that almost no progress could be made.

At last, when the orcs were frustrated enough to tear out their straggly hair, the captain called another halt and ordered the girls carried. They were hoisted, Merry-and-Pippin style, onto their captors' backs, their faces pressed against orcish heads. It was enough to turn even an elf's stomach, which it very nearly did. Tuima gagged so convincingly that the orc turned to stare at her warily, and immediately loosened his grip. Dilly noticed this and smirked a little before imitating retching sounds of her own. It wasn't difficult while being squashed against greasy matted hair that smelt strongly of rotten meat. In fact, it was entirely too easy. But the orc had apparently so little regard for hygiene that even the thought of being spattered with SonicBurgers and gruel wasn't terribly threatening.  
"Weak stomach, hey?" he grinned, foul breath leaking from between his sharp teeth. "Won't take long to break yeh once you've spent some time in the tower, then. Beau'iful, ain't it?" He nodded toward a sinister-looking pinnacle of rock looming over the plains.  
"Oh yeah," she snorted into his filthy hair. "It's such an attractive hunk a' rock." The orc seemed to take this as a compliment.  
"Aye, the place is a sight for sore eyes if ya please. 'Specially the dungeons. You'll be seein' them a real soon!" He leered at her and added, "You best be quiet or I'll cutcher tongue out."  
"Saruman wouldn't be too pleased with you if you did that," Dilly said calmly, ignoring her frantically beating heart. She felt sure the orc could feel it clear through his armor. He paused nervously, but then gave an ugly laugh. "Who's teh tell him, though? You? Wi'out yer tongue?" he sneered derisively, showing yellowed fangs. "Mebbe then I'd get a chance at havin' some fun of me own." He jogged her suggestively with an armored elbow, laughing more than ever when Dilly gasped in pain.  
The place was horrible, she decided, her breath sobbing through her throat in frightened bursts. Absolutely horrible. She was tied so tightly her fingers were going numb, she was bruised and bleeding and exhausted, and the thought of what might await her at the end of all this was more terrifying than anything she'd ever felt. Added to this was the thought of Eicys, most likely killed; her family would never know what had happened. Dilly wished miserably they'd been nicer to the youngest girl in the group. Things could obviously not get any worse…And then they did. The orc carrying her began singing. It was an awful song, full of blood and pain and fear, and sung so terribly off-key as to be almost unbearable. Dilly grimaced and rolled her eyes at Tuima, who wore an expression of abject suffering. Dilly gave a small snort of laughter and the elf smiled back ruefully before a cloud of reeking smoke drifted between the two.  
The orcs had begun to slow, winding their way around large holes in the ground that issued foul smokes and stench, luminous in the darkness. The base of the tower was wreathed with them, the polished stone reflecting the ominous glow. There was a long stairway leading to a doorway that was cut into the tower. Dilly and the rest were thrown to the ground where their bonds were cut and ripped away, grating on already raw skin. They were mercilessly forced to climb the stairs until they reached the doors.  
"We got 'em, Gramareth, you best let us in quick," growled the leading orc.  
"I was movin', hold it!" came the reply, and the thick obsidian doors of Orthanc swung slowly open. They walked into a...welcoming area... and were led down more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs. It kept getting darker and colder, the putrid air sliding down their throats as they descended yet another staircase. Dilly's legs were about to give out when they reached a landing. She started to panic as she looked around.  
"Where are you, Eredolyn? Tuima, Cebu, are you there?"  
There were only muffled grunts in return. A torch was lit as a screeching of metal on metal was heard. An orc grabbed Dilly by the hair and dragged her to an open cell.  
"These be your new quarters!" he laughed, thrusting her inside. She had barely a glimpse of the tiny room before her head slammed against the slimy wall. As the darkness began eating at the edges of her vision, she could hear shrieks and struggling: her friends were being taken away. She had time for one despairing cry before blackness claimed her.


	8. Dungeons and er Drysi?

_**Muse Quest Chapter 8: Dungeons and... er, Drysi's  
**Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

Wlore sat in a corner of her cell, nursing her scratched face. She allowed herself a grimly satisfied smile at the memory of the fight. That idiot wouldn't be anxious to interfere with her again. Two black eyes, three missing teeth, and a broken rib would convince Drysi to mind her own business from now on. If there was a now on -- she had been in here for five days now: much longer than for any of her other punishments, and she was beginning to worry if she would ever be let out.  
The faint light of a torch and a jumble of grating voices announced the arrival of a jailer orc with his bucket of "food". She stretched her legs, manacles clanking, and directed a defiant glare in the direction of her door. It swung open, but instead of the usual platter of slop, a dark-haired girl was shoved inside with such violence that she hit the opposite wall with a crack and slumped to the floor. Wlore scrambled to her feet and put her back to the wall defensively, but the girl didn't move. With a clatter of chains, Wlore knelt next to the girl and examined her. She was breathing, but a trickle of blood ran down the side of her head and she was bruised all over, her wrists and ankles raw from being bound. Wlore shook her gently, and the girl groaned. Her eyelids fluttered open and she pulled herself groggily into a sitting position.  
"Where'm I?" she moaned, peering at Wlore through the darkness.  
"Saruman's dungeon," said Wlore tiredly, helping the girl to the wall. She leaned against it, touching her head gingerly. "You'd better stay still," Wlore advised. "You don't look so good."  
"You don't look too grand yourself," the girl quipped, eyeing the deep scratches on Wlore's face.  
Wlore touched her wounds ruefully, then to the newcomer's surprise, grinned. "Ah, but you should've seen the other girl."  
"Catfight?"  
Wlore snorted. "Hardly – at least for my part. I'm not as stupid when it comes to fighting as Drysi: she wasted her best opportunity just scratching me."  
"What'd you do to her?" the girl asked a little nervously.  
Wlore's grin broadened. "Blackened both eyes, broke one rib, and knocked out a couple teeth."  
The girl winced. "I feel bad for her."  
"Don't," Wlore said flatly. "Drysi is a sniveling, tale-bearing traitor."  
The girl nodded, thinking it best to agree quickly with her new inmate. Suddenly she froze. "Wait… did you say Drysi?  
"Yes..." said Wlore, an edge creeping into her voice. "Do you know her?"  
"No, I don't think so. The name is familiar, but I just can't remember..." The girl put both hands on the sides of her head, as if it might help her remember.  
Wlore sighed, "Maybe you better lay down."  
"You're probably right. I've never hit my head so hard. I keep seeing stars." The girl looked around for a cleaner spot to lay down. One corner didn't seem to have as much gunk on the surrounding stones as the rest. She pulled herself over and lay down slowly. There was a pause where nothing was said.  
Feeling the itching of an awkward silence, Wlore asked, "What is your name?"  
"Dilly Nentari, but you can call me Dilly."  
"Really? Odd name."  
"Why, what's yours?"  
Wlore hesitated. "Wenfrydda Lamhella Oriedhel Rimallin," she conceded ruefully.  
Dilly stared. "Uh… you gotta nickname?"  
"Wlore." Dilly nodded and smiled faintly. "So… how'd you end up in this pit?" Wlore asked, gesturing around the cell.  
Dilly scrutinized her for a minute before launching into a flood of incomprehensible words, ranging from Sonic Burger and portals to people with names like Eicys and Cebu, including a lot of babble about a ring and a book and fanfic on the internet. Wlore was soon hopelessly lost, but one fact penetrated: "You're not from Middle Earth, are you? You're from … wherever Coralie's from?"  
Dilly blinked. "I guess so. Weird." Wlore raised an eyebrow, thinking that "weird" didn't even begin to cover this girl's story. But Dilly interrupted her thoughts. "So, what about you? How did you end up in here, I mean, and how do you know Coralie and Drysi and all that."

Wlore hesitated. She didn't know anything about this girl. But it had been so long since she'd had anyone to confide in, and – well, if this was another of Olchir's tricks, it was a pretty lame one. He already knew she had nothing to tell – and somehow she couldn't see Saruman and Dilly being exactly chummy. The White Wizard wasn't too fond of people who knew things he didn't; Dilly's incomprehensible jargon would definitely not sit well with him. Smiling at the thought, she began her story.

Dilly was amazed. Wlore had lived exactly the kind of life every Tolkien devotee dreamed of: She was the daughter of a minor Rohirric chieftain, a skilled rider and quite obviously not someone you'd want to meet in battle. Wlore had been captured by a roving band of orcs while riding alone; Saruman had needed a few more human servants (he went through them rather quickly, being so temperamental. But he was – understandably – too fastidious to have orcs cook and serve his meals). The orcs had been heading for Wlore's village but had had enough trouble with her that they decided to turn back without raiding it – It appeared to be her only consolation in servitude. Not that anyone could ever call Wlore servile.  
She told Dilly she'd been in the dungeons or chained to the pillory almost constantly since arriving, since the new purpose of her life was to make Olchir's miserable. She confessed merrily to a number of ingenious devious tricks, from itching herbs in his sheets to tampering with kitchen machinery so that everything came out either burnt or raw. "I'd have gotten away with most of them, too, if it weren't for Drysi. She's one of the upper level servants and a real tale-bearer – that's how I heard about Coralie, actually. Everyone's discussing her, especially since she got sent to the dungeons. I was serving the meal when she threw Olchir's enchantments back in his face – beautiful. I've never known anyone to resist his voice like that." Then Wlore drooped. "But no one's heard from her since she got thrown down here – it's been months without even a rumor."

"In more ways than you know," said Dilly with a sort of preoccupied irritation. Noticing Wlore's curious look, she continued. "This is crazy, I know, but I've got this sort of idea that --" Dilly hesitated. "That we're in Coralie's story, and if --"  
"Wait," said Wlore, completely perplexed. She hated being so confused. "What story?"  
Dilly looked almost as thrown as her cellmate. "Well – y'see --" She took a deep breath, let it out, and tried again. "This is going to sound bizarre, but – well – oh, boy."  
"Just say it," said Wlore with a touch of impatience.  
"Right. Well, you know how Coralie's – not from around here?" Wlore nodded, with more than a touch of impatience this time. "Well, my friends and I are from the same place – not exactly the same place, actually on the other side of the planet, but for all practical purposes -" Dilly heard an odd noise and realized with alarm that Wlore was grinding her teeth. "Right," she said hastily, then nervously, "Umm…"  
"Spit it out!" cried Wlore.  
"Me and my friends have been reading this really really good story on the internet about Middle Earth and it's written by this Australian lady named Coralie and we really really like this story but she stopped writing a couple months ago and we haven't heard anything from her so we decided to kidnap Cebu only I already told you that but anyway we ended up here and it's Middle Earth, which made Eredolyn freak out with joy but me just freak out but anyway we were trying to get Coralie to write but it didn't work obviously but now since you know Drysi it makes me think we're not in the normal Middle-earth if you could ever call Middle Earth normal but anyway I think – I think we're in Coralie's story."  
Wlore nodded, then burst out, "What?"  
"I know! Crazy, huh?"  
Wlore decided not to pursue this any further. Her cellmate was obviously raving after that knock. She tried to come up with a diplomatic-sounding answer: "You, or the story?"  
Diplomacy had never been a strong trait with Wlore.  
Dilly looked disappointed but not too surprised. No way she'd believe someone who used only three punctuation marks in a seven-line sentence.  
She sighed and tried to find a comfortable spot on the bare floor, muttering faintly to herself. "So if we're in Coralie's story, then we really ought to rescue her – or would that mess up the story? Yeah, it probably would, but honestly – we can't just leave her rotting in some dungeon… what am I talking about, 'we'? My friends are rotting in some dungeon. Me too. This cannot be happening. This has been the longest, weirdest dream ever… maybe it was the onion rings. No, we used those to beat up Eicys…"  
In her own corner, Wlore sighed heavily. She'd been wrong. This girl had been sent by Olchir – to drive her insane.

* * *

Olchir sat musing in his favorite easy chair. (Actually it wasn't an easy chair, as was pretty near impossible to import one these days, but that was what he liked to call this one.) Anyways, Olchir sat musing in his favorite easy chair, going deep into the pools and recesses of his mind, searching through his malicious thoughts for a clever answer to the strange news he had just received.  
An urgent report claimed that the uruks posted on the borders of Fangorn had intercepted a group of women, quite young in their age. But what's more is that the women have been babbling about the One Ring and the mission of the Halfling. These girls, like the Lady Coralie now locked in the dungeons, had information Olchir needed. _Why is it all the females of Middle Earth suddenly know of the One Ring and its whereabouts?_ The wizard pondered. _Not that it matters now. I shall have all that I want to know soon enough.  
_At that moment, a troop of uruks came in. "Where are the captives now?" Olchir inquired.  
"We brought four of the five whelps to the dungeon my lord, as you told us to..." the voice trailed off.  
"Four... out of five?" the question lingered.  
One of the smaller orcs was shoved forward. "Well, there 'us just four of 'em at first, but then the captain, he sez he smells another of 'em, and sends Gharzuk off to bring 'er in, but she puts up a fight, see, and he 'as ter kill 'er. See?"  
"No, I do not see." The cold eyes glared. "I thought such incompentence had been stamped from your breed, Uruk-hai, but perhaps a little more culling would be appropriate?"  
The uruks writhed beneath his gaze. "...yer orders sir?"  
"None, for now. We'll let them sit for a while – cold, hunger, and isolation often work miracles with stubborn prisoners."  
The uruks agreed nervously, but one of the stupider orcs hesitantly ventured, "isolation, sir? 'Cause we stuck one of 'em in that horse-girl's cell…"  
"What?" Saruman exploded, his fury tangible. The orcs, prostrate in fear, all mentally noted to kill their stupid comrade at the first opportunity, if they should live to have one. To their surprise, they did: Olchir made a visible effort to calm himself, and said with admirable self-control, "Bring the captives to me."  
"All of 'em?"  
"Yes..." Olchir said thoughtfully. "And bring the Rohirric girl as well. No doubt in the stress of all that has occured our little captive has spilled out everything she knows to that troublemaker. That makes her as valuable as they. Fetch them all!"  
The Uruks bowed clumsily and practically sprinted from the room. Once more Saruman sat back in his easy chair, letting a smile of irony form on his lips.  
"And to think I told Wenfrydda she would never see the light of day again..."

* * *

_(More 'pologies for the long wait! The Immies have been starting college (eep!) The next one will be along much sooner -- we're not pulling a Coralie, we swear! (hint hint Lady C) Thanks again to our lovely reviewers! distributes cyber E.L.Fudge-cookies (the Immie's official snack) to all commenters)_


	9. Stupid Orcs

_**MuseQuest ****Chapter 9: Stupid Orcs.  
**__Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

The captured girls sat in their various cells. Predictably, Tuima was fuming, Dilly was feeling anxious, and Eredolyn was happily investigating the corners. Cebu, however, was curled into a ball of misery black enough that even her bright red hair had lost its usual poof and fell disconsolately in her face. No one knew what had happened to her sister, but that horrible blue-eyed goblin had held up Eicys' sweater and winked, and Cebu was in an agony of fear that perhaps the fiend had – Wait.Wait! Goblins don't have blue eyes! Cebu sat up so quickly that stars danced before her eyes in the blackness of Saruman's dungeon. She held onto the thought like a lifeline. _Goblins don't have blue eyes. But Eicys does!_Cebu wondered frantically what to do. She had to know! Because the next time she saw that tracker goblin she would either hug her or murder it.  
A faint muttered cursing reached her ears, and Cebu jumped up happily. Only one person she knew could swear so fluently in elvish. "Tuima!" she cried.  
The muttering stopped. "Cebu?" the elf asked hesitantly.  
Then, "Cebu!" someone shrieked joyously. "You're here too?"  
"Eredolyn?" the redhead demanded incredulously.  
"Yep! So that's three of us – where's Dilly?"  
"The uruks threw her in one of the first cells," said Tuima.  
"Stupid orcs. Hee-hee, never thought I'd have a chance to say that for real! Like in the Very Secret Diaries. 'Day 37. (I think it was 37). Killed by orcs. Stupid orcs'." Eredolyn laughed.  
"Well, it's only day 1, and I have no desire to be killed by orcs, stupid or otherwise," said Tuima crisply.  
"Is there an 'otherwise'?" Eredolyn inquired.  
"No. Are there any loose stones in your cell?" the elf asked impatiently.  
"Nope. Cebu?"  
"Haven't looked yet. Hang on." Cebu's face disappeared from the bars on her cell door, and she began scanning her tiny prison, working her fingers into joints in the walls. "Yech," she sputtered, getting her fingernails full of slime. "This place is gross."

Tuima was silent. Curled in a corner of her cell was an ancient skeleton, green with age, and bearing marks of torture. The elf rubbed her arms miserably. This whole tower stank of death and pain. The sooner they escaped the better. The stone seemed to press all around her, and her eyes hurt from straining through the murky darkness. She shuddered. Elves do not like caves. Tuima longed for a light – and almost immediately got her wish, though not in a manner she would have hoped for. Torchlight flickered from somewhere down the passage, growing steadily brighter. A group of burly uruks tramped toward them, talking loudly and swinging vicious-looking weapons, some of which they kept pointed at the two girls in their midst.  
"Dilly!" cried Tuima. She thought wryly that only a few hours ago she would have hardly been pleased to see the dark-haired mortal, but now she was filled with relief. Dilly's companion was a pretty blonde girl with a line of scratches running down her face. The look she directed at the uruks said very plainly, "Take off these chains and give me a weapon and you'd be yammering for a cell of your own in seconds." _Definitely Rohirric_, Tuima decided, with a faint smile.

The uruks reached Eredolyn's cell and hauled her out. She seemed almost indignant at the rough handling. The uruks were completely baffled at her air of condescending play-along, and left her next to Dilly. There was a pause, as the creatures hesitated at whom to take out next. Cebu had fought like a madwoman when they put her in the cell, still frantic over Eicys' fate, but no orc was ever anxious to be around an elf, either. Eventually they threw open Cebu's door and seized her by the hair. She yelped and twisted and battered her captors with blows, but they threw her next to her friends and stuck a spear against her throat until she quieted. She threw such a poisonous look at the spear-carrying orc that he nearly dropped the weapon.

Tuima was next, and better prepared than the others. She gripped the round stone she'd pried loose from the wall, and hurled it neatly into the first uruk's face. He howled and clutched his nose, blood streaming through his fingers. A second orc rushed in, and Tuima whirled and kicked him just below the kneecap. It was a handy trick she'd learned in combat, and usually rendered the enemy lame and useless. Of course, she was usually wearing heavy boots in combat. Tuima was left gasping with the pain of a broken toe, perhaps two, as the armor-clad uruk laughed gratingly. She was seized around the middle and hurled into the group of orcs, ringed with spears, and made to march with the others. The elf limped in furious silence, humiliated. She did not look up until they reached the heavy black doors of Saruman's audience chamber.

* * *

Taras peered uselessly through the bars in his door. That was the second time today he'd heard voices – not orcs, definitely human voices. Female, too, by the sound of them. He' d decided from the occasional scuffling noise and howl of pain from an orc that that servant girl of Saruman's – Wlore? – had gotten into trouble again. She'd been in the cell next to his for a few days after rubbing muck from the orc-pits into Saruman's laundry. He smiled sadly. He missed the Rohirrim's cheerful defiance.

But from the echoes, this was more than one girl – three or four, he decided. _"There seems to be a sudden influx of young women in Middle-earth_," he thought wryly. He wondered disconsolately how this group had been caught, and strained his eyes around the iron bars. Eventually the echoes faded, and Taras kicked his heavy cell door miserably. Of all the ironic punishments, after being let out one day for questioning, the orcs had thrown him into the wrong cell. He had been working at the bars in his old one for weeks, and they were almost ready to pull free, when he had been stuck in this one, directly across the hall. His bid for freedom lay three feet and a hundred miles from his grasp. Taras slumped against his door and tried to shut out the silence. It had been so quiet now, for months. In the dark, lonely silence of Saruman's dungeon, Taras of Dol Amroth battled noiselessly with his despair.


	10. Of Orcs and Eicys

_**Muse Quest ****Chapter 10: Of Orcs and Eicys**_

_Hello, our lovely, wonderful, fabulous readers & reviewers! (yes, that's flattery, and it's there for a Wise Purpose...)  
To recap: Eicys is disguised as an orc in Isengard in order to rescue her sister and friends, who are currently being taken to Saruman. Of them all, Eicys is probably enjoying the experience least (except, perhaps, for the angsty Tuima. Or maybe Cebu, who thinks her sister is dead. Or perhaps Wlore and Dilly, who both think their cellmate is weird beyond all description. OK, fine. Eredolyn is the only one having any fun at all at the moment, for reasons beyond mortal -- or elven -- comprehension).

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_

Eicys lay on one of the hundreds of shelves that served Isengard's orcs as beds. She was trying frantically and unsuccessfully to avoid touching either her bedfellows or the lice-ridden, slimy wood beneath her. Waves of sour, rotting stench rolled over her with every exhalation of the orc beside her. She cringed, then the orc flopped over sleepily and she was hit in the mouth with his limp, filthy arm. She shoved it off her face, gagging at the taste, and decided enough was enough. Holding her breath and trying to control the waves of nausea that surged queasily in her throat, Eicys scrambled over several sleeping bodies toward the exit. She elicited curses, yells, and at the very end a heavy blow that knocked her sprawling off the shelf to land with a whump in the slimy mud.  
Eicys picked herself up, tempted to use one of the many colorful new words she'd learned on her first day as an orc. Instead she squelched her way out of the barracks and took a deep breath – of a reeking cloud of gas that steamed from the cracks in the earth.  
Coughing and wheezing, she stumbled as far from the center of Isengard as she dared. She finally collapsed against an enormous stone pillar with a White Hand painted on it. Eicys scowled at the symbol. "Egotistical sort of villain," she humphed. "Puts his signature all over his own home. Why doesn't his hand have Many Colors, too?" She curled up at the base up the pillar and tried to convince herself, for the fiftieth time in that long, miserable day, that she was having a particularly unpleasant dream. _"I'm never reading Lord of the Rings before falling asleep again,"_ she decided, pressing her back against the stone and wondering if she dared take off her armor to sleep. She decided she didn't dare, just in case she wasn't dreaming. She had disguised her head and arms with black mud and rags, but if someone found a goblin dressed in jeans and a t-shirt….

Eicys hugged her arms around her middle and was rewarded with bruises from two buckles and the edge of her breastplate. She grimaced and shifted around the pillar, out of the biting wind, where she slumped in on herself, battling tears. She knew deep down that this wasn't a dream. Her sister and her friends were prisoners of a very real, very evil person, and she herself was hardly better off: maintaining a precarious disguise among some of the most grotesque and brutal creatures in existence.  
_"Not to mention the food is disgusting,_ thought Eicys._ I swear, if I see my soup looking back at me again…"  
_She finally fell into a nervous sleep, dreaming of Sonic burgers that grew orc faces and chased her around with bags of gruel which dripped oily black blood.  
So at first she was happy to wake up. But the feeling ended very quickly as she opened her eyes and stared into an enormous, brutal face just inches from her own.  
Eicys tumbled backwards, making a strangled noise like "aaaurgh!" The uruk jumped. That alone was weird enough. Uruk-hai don't flinch when small muddy girls say "aaaurgh". Or when small muddy goblins say it, either. But this one not only flinched, he looked genuinely nervous.  
Eicys hastily checked under her helmet to make sure her face was still muddy and her hair was still hidden. Safe. But the brute was still looking at her quizzically, and – her heart thumped – fingering its weapon. Eicys offered it a worried grin, remembered her teeth were white, and clamped her lips shut again, wondering if she would miss her head after the orc had removed it.  
"Yer not supposed ter be out here," the creature grated. "Should report you, I should." He looked confused and …nervous? The expression was totally incongruous with his hideous mottled features -- and the enormous, heavy scimitar in his fist.  
"Uh – really? Um, well, I'll just be going, then. Um, 'bye." Eicys ducked under his muscular arm and almost sprinted away, ready to be stopped at any moment. But the uruk just stood there, looking surprised, watching her.  
"Oookaaay, that was weird," thought Eicys, trying to get her heart to start beating normally again. She found herself among a group of orcs that was shambling toward a rickety building she recognized as their mess hall.  
"_Oh, no",_ she thought. No more freaky wiggly dishes for me. She joined another group of the creatures that were entering Orthanc, hoping to hear news of her sister and maybe scrounge some real food. She hadn't eaten at all yesterday.

* * *

By a stroke of almost unbelievable luck _("well, this is Middle-earth, after all_," she thought. "_Bilbo had all sorts of luck, why not me?")_ and a lot of wandering around, she managed to get a job carrying food to the dungeons. The cook, who was human (Eicys could have hugged him from the relief of seeing another human face, but decided that hugging an evil wizard's cook was not the wisest course of action), shoved several platters of slop at her and pointed toward the stairs. Eicys was overjoyed. As soon as she was out of sight she greedily devoured a plateful of the gruel-like substance. Despite the fact that it looked much more appetizing than the orcs' food, she was careful not to start imagining what was in it. The simple fact that the contents were dead was enough to make her grateful.  
As she was eating, she peered back at the kitchens to make sure no one could see her. She watched a sulky-looking girl with two black eyes and bandaged ribs turning a spit, and noticed, interested, that most kitchen workers were humans.  
_"I guess Saruman didn't want orcs cooking his meals,"_ she thought, noticing an elaborate breakfast being prepared, presumably for the wizard. Understandable. She downed the rest of the gruel and grinned at the thought of the orcs' mess-hall cook serving the fastidious Istari. She was feeling very happy as she trotted down the long staircase to the dungeons.  
"Aaaaurgh!" she yelped. She had run into an enormous uruk – the same one as before, she realized. Looking into that heavy, brutish face, she managed only a faint "eep!" before sitting down hard, spilling a lot of gruel. The uruk reached down a hand and Eicys threw an arm over her head to ward off the blow – sending a large amount of slop straight into his face. There was a dead silence as the creature grimly wiped gruel from his eyes and reached down a hand again – and pulled her to her feet.  
Eicys blinked. "Um," she said, smearing gruel off her front. "Um, sorry. Thank you." The orc nodded jerkily and turned to go. "Wait!" called Eicys. He stopped and turned, towering over her, and she realized she had nothing to say. _"I've had brighter ideas_," she thought, peering up at him in the gloom. "Er… what's your name?" she asked.  
The orc looked astonished. "New here, are you?"  
"Um, yes," Eicys said, wondering if she'd given something away, and how to escape before he asked her something she couldn't answer. _"I've definitely had brighter ideas."_  
"So no one's told yeh about me then?"  
Eicys shook her head mutely, and the orc sighed harshly. "They will, though," he muttered, then said more clearly, "You still gonna take those down teh them pris'ners?" He nodded at the empty platters.  
"Oh no," groaned Eicys. "The cook is going to kill me."  
"Most likely," the uruk agreed callously. Eicys swallowed hard at the realization that he took her completely literally. She buried her face in her hands.  
"I could just… wait, and tell him I already delivered them… But my sis – the prisoners will go hungry…" The orc watched her suspiciously, and Eicys realized with a jolt of fear that she wasn't acting at all orclike; she hadn't even tried to disguise her voice – She looked up at the brutish face looming above her, eyes wide.  
The orc's expression was inscrutable, and Eicys was taken entirely by surprise when he said, "C'mon then. I'll get yer sum more."  
Bewildered and wary, she followed him as he stalked back toward the kitchens, keeping a nervous eye on the scimitar in his belt. He was the biggest orc she had ever seen, with coarse black hair spilling out from his White Hand-marked helmet, and thick, mottled black limbs encased in heavy armor. 

He halted next to the cook, and in a thick growl ordered more gruel for the prisoners. "We've had a few more cum in," he explained. The cook looked at him contemptuously and Eicys held her breath, sure that such an enormous uruk would not stand for disrespect from a puny human. But the orc just took hold of the two buckets that the cook shoved at him, turned, and lumbered off toward the dungeon staircase. Eicys hurried after, panting under her armor. She caught up with him at the bottom of the second flight. "Why are you helping me?" she demanded.  
He turned, looking menacing in the torchlight, but didn't answer. Eicys caught his arm as he moved to continue, and he stopped and stared at her. She cringed, but met his eyes. He still didn't answer, but instead said, after a long pause, "Yer eyes don't match."  
Hardly daring to breathe, Eicys quietly replied, "Neither do yours."  
The uruk recoiled and stared fixedly at the floor. Eicys peered at him through the murky torchlit gloom. "You're not an orc at all, are you?" His reaction took her completely by surprise.  
"**I AM!"** he roared, a horrible snarling yell. The buckets of food fell to the floor, spilling gruel everywhere, and Eicys cowered against a wall. His mouth opened to bare crooked yellow fangs that nevertheless looked completely usable. Eicys was convinced on the spot and demonstrated it by falling flat on the floor, shaking. "_Hardly a courageous heroine_," she thought randomly. "_I don't want to die in a puddle of slop!"  
_"OK, OK, you are, definitely, yes, OK!" she wailed, feeling a massive tower of muscle and fangs and armor loom over her. "I didn't mean it!"  
The tower subsided, and a normal orc was standing next to her again. ("_See how badly I've regressed,"_ Eicys thought. _"Since when is an orc normal?")  
_He was breathing hard and looking thoroughly miserable. Despite her scare, Eicys felt bad for him. It was terribly weird seeing a sad uruk.  
"Are you – Are you ok?" she asked quaveringly.  
He looked sideways at her, suspicious. "'oh-kay'?" he repeated.  
"Er – it means 'all right'. Y'know, OK, fine."  
This time he stared outright. "Why?" he snarled.  
Eicys was at a loss. "Uhm… just curious," she said, kicking her brain for such a stupid answer.  
"Tha's a stupid answer," he said. Eicys resigned herself to an enormous, mind-reading, sad, normal orc standing next to her.  
"_I've completely lost it_," she thought. "I know," she said.  
"Tha's a stupid answer, too."  
Eicys lost her temper. "Well, fine then! You can just show up out of a bad dream and act all weird and tell me like a total hypocrite that my eyes don't match the rest of me, then freak out when I notice yours and go all fainty-evil-approachy – ah, no, wrong type of angst – go all freaky and drop all the food and yell at me for showing a bit of common courtesy!"  
A slightly stunned silence followed this tirade. The uruk was looking bewildered. "Commin what?" he asked finally.  
Eicys threw up her hands. "Aaaurgh!" she yelled.  
He cocked his head. "Ya keep makin' tha' noise. What's tha' one mean?"  
"You know," said Eicys sullenly. "Like as in AAURGH." She bared her teeth and lifted her fingers like claws, demonstrating.  
The orc burst into raucous laughter.  
"That's even wurse than mine!" he howled.  
"What?" asked Eicys, stunned. "Than that fit you just threw? The one that just about stopped my heart? Don't be stupid."  
"I ain't stupid. I scared yeh, then?"  
Eicys nodded weakly. The uruk seemed not to know how to take this. He seemed flattered, suspicious, and worried all at once. Eicys offered helpfully, "I think you scared me out of five years of my life."  
The orc looked stricken. "Sorry," he mumbled. Eicys mentally added abashed orc to her Weird List. She decided to turn the tables.  
"Why?" she asked, exactly as he had earlier.  
His brows contracted. Eicys hugged the wall, fearing another outburst, but the orc was merely thinking. "Dunno," he said finally. "I shouldn't be." He raised his eyes to hers and she felt again the shock of seeing human eyes in such a brutally ugly face. "Jest like you shouldn't 'a asked abou' … ohkay."  
"Well," said Eicys after a pause. "That was pretty stupid on both our parts." The uruk nodded vehemently. "If t'others heard this sorta thing, we'd never hear th' end of it," he growled, his eyes narrowing as if in unpleasant memory.  
"Right. So they won't," said Eicys firmly. The orc grinned and Eicys winced at the enormous blackened fangs. "_This has got to be the craziest friendship in the history of the worl— Middle Earth,_ " she thought, and grinned back.


	11. The Experiment

_**Muse Quest Chapter 11: The Experiment  
**Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

"I'd better go," said Eicys. Despite her confidence that this strange orc wasn't a threat, she still felt more comfortable away from him. Best to avoid everyone until she could rescue her sister. And he was so big , and ugly…  
"I have to deliver the… Oh, no." She picked up an empty bucket that lay like a ship stranded in a shallow gruel sea. "Oh, no."  
The uruk looked just as disheartened as Eicys when he realized that he had dropped the prisoner's rations.  
"I suppose we'll just have to go get some more," Eicys said, hopefully. _Please please come with me_, she thought, changing her mind extremely quickly. The first time, coming back for more food might be all right. The second… Well, she would feel better with a nearly seven-foot tower of muscle and steel and fangs by her side, to say the least.  
The orc peered at her through the murky torchlit gloom, looking reluctant. Eicys put on her most beseeching face, which was very much spoiled by the thick coating of mud that was her disguise. Her companion sighed heavily and jerked his head in the direction of the kitchens. Eicys trotted after him, relieved.

They stumped in silence through the dark passageways of Orthanc. Occasionally another orc would shamble hurriedly by, going about the grim business of the wizard. But suddenly there came the sound of voices that were decidedly not orcish – in fact, it sounded like…  
Eicys froze, her sister's name stillborn in her mouth as she fought for control. She must not shout out and give everything away. But oh… Eicys craned frantically for a glimpse of her sister's bush of copper curls amid the marching group of uruks. There! And that short hair – Eredolyn. And there was Tuima, a head of chestnut hair that bobbed grimly with her limp. Behind her, Dilly's dark cascade of hair fell around her body, and next to Dilly was a blonde someone that Eicys didn't recognize.  
Eicys sighed in relief, and realized she'd been holding her breath. All accounted for, then. She suddenly became aware of her companion peering down at her curiously. She shrugged and attempted an orcish grunt, but couldn't resist a final look as the band of prisoners disappeared around a corner. Then she hurried to catch up to the orc, who was pushing his way through the kitchen doors.

"You again," the cook snarled as the big uruk stood before him, Eicys bobbing beside him. "What do you need now – Ungrath ?" The kitchen servants and a few orcs snorted with harsh laughter, much to Eicys' confusion. Her bewilderment deepened at the look on her companion's face: a sort of bitter resignation. He held himself very stiffly.  
Eicys decided he had just been insulted in some way, and wondered why he didn't make use of that enormous scimitar. He was much bigger than anyone there, and she knew he could lose his temper.  
But here he seemed to have a firm control of it. He spoke tightly, explaining that there had been an accident and they needed more food for the prisoners. The cook sneered. "And here was I, thinking the feeding of those dungeon rats was its job." He gave Eicys a smack with a big spoon he was holding, and she yelped. The cook regarded her contemptuously. "Faugh," he said. "Another one of these weaklings you've taken up with? Well, you two ought to get along right well, hey, Ungrath?" Again there was a ripple of cruel laughter. Eicys looked desperately at her companion, then jumped as the cook spat at her feet.  
"The master has no use for softness, Ungrath. He is not happy with you. He would not mind my disposing of an experiment that has so obviously failed." He jerked a head toward Eicys on the last word and eyed a rack of carving knives.  
"P'rhaps yeh would not find it so easy teh dispose of," Eicys' companion growled menacingly.  
At this, the cook and several orcs burst into jeers. "Sure, Ungrath, Experiment, Freak. Yew take 'im."  
"Yeh'd be killed with his spoon there afore yeh could get through yer pimple of a mind that yeh'd been insulted – Ungrath. "  
"Weakling!" The cook turned to the others, enjoying the attention. "I can't see why the Master didn't throw the ungrath out. He usually kills the failed ones, right?"  
The jeers increased, and the big uruk's fists clenched spasmodically. Eicys' eyes were wide. Surely now he would –  
The uruk snarled ferociously at the onlookers and they looked startled and nervous. Eicys agreed wholeheartedly with the feeling: her companion looked terrifying. He turned his gaze on the cook, who quailed and sullenly pushed a bucketful of gruel toward him. He took it in one meaty, mottled fist, shoved it at Eicys, then turned on a heel and strode from the kitchens, accompanied by renewed taunts and insults.  
"That's one ungrath that failed purkshog," sneered a stunted goblin, half-in, half-out of the Black Speech. Eicys, hurrying after the big uruk, suddenly and belated realized what "ungrath" meant to these creatures.

Experiment.

And it was her new friend's name. Suddenly fuming, Eicys stormed down the corridor after him, the gruel bucket clutched to her chest, imagining wiping the smirk off those horrible faces with every type of modern weaponry she could think of. She was annihilating the orc barracks with a mental tank when she finally caught up to the uruk.  
He had stopped in a dark corner and was staring furiously at nothing. Eicys imagined he was having daydreams rather similar to her own. Her anger evaporated, and she felt awkward and frightened. His fists were still clenched, and Eicys was relieved to see that they did not hold his weapon.  
"Um…" she squeaked at last. "U – Ungrath? Is it – Is it ok if I call you that?"  
"'S my name," the uruk grated.  
"Does it really mean – that?"  
He looked up and snarled at her. "Yes."  
Eicys swallowed hard. She had been forgetting that he was an orc, bred and trained solely as a killing machine. Fear and pity and curiosity warred in her chest, and finally, seeing his dejected ugliness, fear and pity were conquered.  
"Why?"  
She had made a mistake; she saw immediately that she'd gone too far. His face contorted in fury, and his contradicting eyes burned with hurt. He leapt to his feet and his heavy mottled fist crushed into her stomach even as his eyes widened in shocked apology.  
Too late. Eicys flew backwards and hit the wall with a crunch, then collapsed in a bruised, gasping heap, blessing her armor. Ungrath rushed over, hovering, horrified.  
Eicys cringed away from him, wheezing, and Ungrath looked appalled at himself. He knelt next to her helplessly. Eicys scooted away as best she could when feeling like all her ribs had splintered, but he looked so miserable that she managed to gasp, "Sorry." Ungrath started convulsively, staring, and Eicys flinched, a spasm of pain racking her airless chest.  
When she looked up again, the first tendrils of breath creeping tentatively into bruised lungs, he reached a hand toward her hesitantly. Eicys squeezed her eyes shut but didn't move, and he seemed to take this as consent. He gathered her into his thick arms, picked up the gruel bucket, and set off at what seemed to Eicys to be a horribly jolting jog. He smelled terrible.  
She was very glad to be set down on a smooth stretch of floor, empty but for themselves. She concentrated on drawing breath into her starved lungs. At last they seemed to remember how to work on their own. The sound of ragged, steady breathing filled the stone nook. Ungrath was staring at her with a distracted guilty horror. Eicys would not meet his eyes.  
"I coulda killed yeh," he rasped. She still did not look at him. It was true, he could have killed her. He had held his temper so evenly in the kitchens, then with her –  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry – I don' know yer name," he said.  
Eicys shook her head mutely, glad she had an excuse not to speak to him.  
"I don' usually – I never – I always hold it in. Always. I don' know why…" he stopped abruptly. "Ah, mebbe they're right. I am a weak one. Right proper failure. And takin' up wi' the likes of you, actin' yer nursemaid on account o' sum funny eyes…" His own eyes hardened. She finally looked up at him, defiant.  
"Eicys," she said.  
"Eh?"  
"My name is Eicys. And I do not need a nursemaid, and you are not a weakling," – she touched her bruised ribs gingerly – "and you owe me an explanation."  
And, as she had hoped, the hardness cleared from his eyes and he was once again his kind, ugly self. But he was looking thoroughly miserable. "An expl'nation?" he asked gingerly. Eicys nodded, firm. He grimaced. "Of – of m' name?" Eicys jerked her head, 'yes'. Ungrath bit a black lip. "Er, yeh see… the Master, Sharkey, y'know… well, he – he wants on'y the best fighters, yeh unnerstand, and he had teh, um, practice – to get it right, see?"  
Eicys shook her head, and Ungrath sighed heavily. "Right daft, yeh are. Do I have teh say it? I was one of the practicings." Eicys stared at him. He took a deep breath. "I don' r'member much of it – and glad I am, too – but it hurt. I dunno how I used teh be, but I know I … changed. I've an idea – I'm pretty shor – I's only a scrawny little orc afore the Master came, and a scared 'un." He stared at his thick clawed hands, then laughed, bitter and reckless. "Sum things don' change. But at first yeh couldn't tell – He didn' know. He tried all sortsa things. I done – I done sum awful stuff. Pretty soon he sees I can' take it, I'm no good. So he tries it on sum o' the other little goblins, and forgot abou' me. An' it's a good thing. Dunno why he didn' kill me.  
"The others… they know I don' like to fight. I'm too strong, see – still haven' gotten used to it. And they like bein' tougher than summun my size. So I let 'em." He shrugged. "I never got mad enough afore – afore today – mad enough to hit summun."  
"I'm honored," said Eicys dryly, and before he could react she fixed him with a light blue stare. He looked puzzled and wondering. Eicys felt terrible for him. She gave his hand a squeeze, resisting the urge to scrub off the feeling afterward. It was worth it: he beamed hideously. Eicys felt like crying.  
"Well, I have some chores to do," she said instead, scrambling to her feet. She pressed a hand to her ribs, wincing, and looked up to see the heavy bucket already in Ungrath's hand. He grinned crookedly at her, she smiled back, and they set off together for the dungeon.

* * *

The five girls were herded roughly into Saruman's audience chamber, and W'lore managed to step on three feet and jab an elbow into an unarmored side before being thrown before the wizard with the others.  
The Istari was an imposing figure, his white robes and hair a stark contrast to his obsidian throne. "_The white's a nice contrast against his soul, as well_", Tuima thought contemptously. "_I'll bet he did that on purpose_."  
"_Arrogant, power-hungry bully" _, thought W'lore, grinding her teeth.  
_"Yikes!" _Dilly thought. "_I think where he started to go wrong was his choice of manicurist."_ She eyed his long oval claws.  
"_Holy cow, he's perfect! His robe even has those color shifts from the books!" _Eredolyn thought, a twinge of nervousness drowned in her glee.  
Cebu didn't think at all. Her mind was a blank haze of fury; at the slightest provocation she would grab the wizard by his hair and slam that haughty face into his own throne.  
Into the storm of Cebu's face, Saruman smiled, a slow, thin, cold smile. Even Eredolyn shivered. His black eyes gleamed maliciously.  
"So…" he said softly. His deep voice rolled threateningly around the walls. "Close the door," Saruman commanded, and the servants hastily drew the carved doors shut, leaving the White Wizard alone with his prisoners. The girls were already shaken by merely his voice: it was dark and imperious, yet soothing, honeysweet. His eyes, deep ancient wells, bored right through every soul.  
Saruman would find the answers. His thin lips curled into a smile at that thought. Very soon, he would know everything his prisoners knew: from whence they came, their connection with the strange surge of elvish activity in Fangorn, and, most importantly, the whereabouts of the Ring of Power. Thus long and steadily he looked at each girl. There was a weak spot somewhere, and he would harrow it out.  
Tuima, though carrying an obvious limp, stood tall and confident before the wizard's glare: like Luthien before Morgoth in the Elder Days. She would not be so easy to break.  
Cebu was weaker, but her mind was focused on other things, such as impaling the wizard's head on a pike. No, she was far too angry to deal with, although – perhaps, later, some fun could be had…  
Obvious strength was in Dilly. She was hardy, and stood firm next to W'lore, whom she had bonded with in those long hours in prison. W'lore herself had withstood the darkness of dungeons for many weeks now, and, although she seemed to shrink under the wizard's gaze, she was also glaring defiantly. The insolent Rohirric rat had actually endured far worse than this: he would get nowhere with her.  
As for Eredolyn...

The wizard studied her for a while. The girl was weak. Her mind was struggling between absolute awe for the wizard and her first real fear in this place. Any defiance in her was already slipping...  
Suddenly Saruman found it: a weak spot. An advantage. The smile curled wider on his lips.  
"I appologize for my servants dealing so roughly with you," the wizard said to his guests, his voice low and sweet. "I am afraid precaution is of vital importance in my lands. Who can know in these dark days if an outsider is friendly or hostile? My house was open and friendly to all in the days of peace, but such days I have not seen since the reign of Helm Hammerhand..."

He paused, waiting for it – and there it was. A light flicked on in Eredolyn's eyes. "You knew Helm Hammerhand?" she asked in wonder.  
Saruman smiled benignly. "Why yes, child. He and I were good friends, long ago. Are you so wise to know of his history?"  
Eredolyn blushed. "I just read a little. But his tale is one of my favorites."  
"Well, well," the wizard said admiringly. "Never had I seen one so young study the tales of Rohan! No doubt there is much about that culture you wish to learn still..." His resonant voice lingered in her ears.  
Everyone else could not believe what they were hearing. "Oh come on!" W'lore snapped. "I could teach her that!"  
"But does W'lore know the lines of kings by heart?" asked Saruman, looking at no one but Eredolyn. "I do! Thengel, Folcwine, Folca, down to the days of Eorl the Young who first rode into the green fields with banner and horn in hand!"  
Eredolyn was lost in awe at his words: brimming with knowledge, flowing ceaselessly. "Wow...I wish I could learn all that..."  
"SHUT UP!" everyone cried.  
Tuima turned to the wizard, "Saruman!" she snapped. "Whatever you want, you will not lure it from us. Our strength is greater than that!"  
"Ah, presumptions of the ignorant," the Istari sighed, still eyeing Eredolyn, "It is a pity they are not as eager for wisdom as you." At last he took his black gaze from the girl and turned to the others. "But I have still not established whether you are all harmless or a menace to my household. Thus I shall have my servants escort you to more decent quarters, until we can talk again."  
As if on cue the servants came in to escort the girls out. Saruman turned to Eredolyn. "If you desire at all to speak further on the tales of the Rohirrim, my knowledge is at your disposal. Feel free to ask."  
"Thank you, she won't!" Dilly cried, and she grabbed Eredolyn's arm as they were led from the chamber. But Eredolyn was still enraptured at how much this old man knew. Even if he was the enemy, it wouldn't hurt to hear a few tales from him...

* * *

_Uh-oh, What in the HECK is Ere doing? Hopefully you'll want to find out. Please keep reading!_


	12. Bad News

**_Muse Quest Chapter 12: Bad News_**

_Hello again all you wonderful people! Just wanted to let you know that there's been a change-if you're still wanting to read Lady Coralie's story (the foundation of this particualr fanfic) it has moved. Instead of going to tolkienonline(dot)com you'll have to go to theonering(dot)com. Thanks for reading this all have a wonderful day!  
Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

Taras was pacing again. Back and forth, pointlessly, restlessly. The food was late. Pathetic, how he'd grown to depend so much on that one moment of variety in his day. His mind strayed to his home in Gondor: Dol Amroth, the castle by the sea. He strained to remember: the endless sky, the ships, riding, sailing, fighting, laughing… A noise somewhere down the corridor brought him back to his tiny, filthy cell. Food on its way. Taras didn't need the faint flicker of approaching torchlight to see the slimy stone walls close around him; he knew every stone, every grit of mortar by heart.  
"Sweet Valar, I've been here too long," he muttered, mostly for the sake of hearing a noise. The silence was a terrible, refined torture: his world was completely, monotonously devoid of sound and light. The boredom was like a throbbing ache he could not escape. And so he paced, trying to recapture his old world of sun, singing, color.  
The door rattled. Taras paused, and to his immense surprise, the heavy wooden slab swung open wide. He threw up a hand against the dim torchlight, eyes smarting. A small, muddy goblin in dented armor proffered a plate of the customary slop with a very uncustomary smile. Taras stared dazedly at its straight white teeth, bewildered. The thing was looking at him pityingly, and he felt a flash of his old self. He considered making a bolt for it; he even raised his plate to throw the food in the goblin's eyes – then he caught sight of the hulking, brutish-looking uruk just behind it, and subsided.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth. At one time he would have rushed the thing, heedless. Now… weak, starved, weaponless, and half-blind from the light, he just stood there, concenrated hatred pooling in his gray eyes. He turned his gaze back to the goblin. It looked startled at the loathing on his face, and the big uruk stepped protectively in front of it and very deliberately shut the door on Taras. He slumped to the floor, careful of his gruel, and listened to the jumble of voices outside his cell. The higher voice sounded indignant and pitying by turns. It also sounded curiously un-orclike. The uruk's voice was unmistakable: harsh, deep, and angry. The two of them moved off down the corridor, and Taras was once again alone. He ate his gruel pensively, and after a moment began pacing again.

* * *

Saruman's newest group of prisoners was herded down the long black corridors of Orthanc in various moods of fury, awe, and fear. Eredolyn was awed. Nervous, a little guilty, but on the whole simply overwhelmed by the force of Saruman's voice. She felt faintly dizzy and couldn't seem to think straight.  
Tuima was furious. _That idiot mortal! Sweet Elbereth, imagine falling for such a paltry trick! "I knew Helm Hammerhand," indeed!_ She admitted grudgingly that it would be difficult for anyone to withstand Saruman's lures once he turned his will to theirs, and besides, everything so far had been completely outside the girls' experience. So perhaps she couldn't blame Eredolyn – but Valar, what were they going to do? Somehow, somehow – how? – these mortal girls knew of the One Ring, and of Frodo's quest. Above all else, she had to prevent them from telling Saruman of the Council's decision. The elf's shoulders slumped. There was nothing she could do, and she knew it. Saruman would find what he wanted to know, and they would all die here, probably painfully – though this was a concept her elvish mind couldn't quite grasp. She had never considered death…  
Wlore was mad. No other word for it – that wizard just… Wlore clenched her fists and her teeth. He had no right! She glared at all and sundry and muttered dire imprecations in Rohirric.  
Dilly eyed Wlore warily. She was sick of being frightened and bruised and tired. The sooner she woke up from this horrible dream, the happier she'd be.  
Cebu was – but she didn't have time, because she hadn't gone ten steps before the group was interrupted by another servant hurrying up to them.

It was a girl with bandaged ribs, missing teeth, and two spectacular black eyes. To the amusement of everyone present, she was cringing away from Wlore, who was grinning at her with a satisfied ferocity.  
"G'morning, Drysi," Wlore said pleasantly.  
Drysi blanched and said, "Saruman wants to talk to her again." She pointed at Cebu, who was promptly hauled back up the corridor, looking frightened and angry.  
"And –" Drysi whispered something into a servant's ear. He nodded, and Drysi fled, shooting a venomous glare in Wlore's direction.  
The group was still at a loss from Cebu's sudden summons, and did not realize they were being separated until Eredolyn was several yards away.  
"Hey!" she protested nervously. "What are you doing?"  
"Saruman instructed us that you be given rooms near the library," a servant said soothingly. "Your friends will be quartered in the floors below."  
Eredolyn hesitated.  
"You may see them whenever you like," the man said reassuringly, and Eredolyn slowly turned and followed him, throwing uncertain glances over her shoulder at her companions.  
"'Bye, then," she called nervously.  
Dilly looked stricken, and Wlore was glowering. Tuima stared at the floor. As soon as Eredolyn was out of sight, the other four were seized and hurried down several flights of stairs. Halfway down the third staircase the whole group stopped dead at a blood-curdling scream that reverberated throughout Orthanc. Mixed into it were deep bellows of pain or anger.  
"Hey," Wlore said uncertainly. "That sounds like…"  
"Saruman!" Tuima gasped.  
"Cebu!" cried Dilly at the same time. The servants stared at each other, bewildered. Within a minute, they could hear more screams and cries coming closer, and suddenly Cebu turned the corner, clamped tightly between three servants as she flailed and kicked and thrashed. "Cebu!" Dilly cried. "What…"  
"Eicys!" Cebu wailed, her face white and tear-streaked. "He said Eicys is dead ! My sister …" She sobbed wildly.

The girls stared at each other, shocked. A servant moved to grip Dilly's arm again and she shoved him away:  
"Don't touch me!" she spat. He grabbed her again. Very deliberately, Dilly twisted and punched the man squarely in the face. He fell back with a howl, and battle was joined. Wlore was already whirling and punching, and Cebu needed no urging; shrieking battle cries, the redhead kicked free of two servants and launched herself into the other's stomach, knocking him flat. The fight went on beautifully until reinforcements arrived. Wlore was drawing back her arm for another blow when a heavy hand closed around her elbow and she found a crude scimitar at her throat. The others were quickly caught as well, although it took two uruks to pry Cebu's hands from a servant's neck.  
When at last they were all held tight, the head servant addressed them. "You're only making things worse for yourselves, you know," he said, dabbing at a flow of blood from his hairline. There were matching smears of blood on Wlore's bruised knuckles. "Saruman will not be happy to hear of this. Fortunately for you, you will not have to face the questioners until he has finished with your friend."  
"If you touch her –" Dilly started, lunging uselessly.  
The man laughed, looking sinister with blood streaming down his face. "Don't worry, my dear. The master will be much gentler with your foolish companion than he will with you." he paused. "One or another of you will be taken to see her occasionally. You will have a servant watching you the whole time. If you say anything unpleasant to her, we will hear."  
"And do what?" Wlore sneered.  
"And punish your companions," the man said with chilling indifference. "Trust me, they will not thank you for any slips you might make… You will wish yourselves as dead as this barbarian's little sister should we hear of any difficulties." He looked at the uruks. "Take them away. Separate cells."  
Cebu's despairing sobs lingered in the air as she and her friends were dragged away.

* * *

Eredolyn stared admiringly, but a little nervously, around her new chambers. She hoped her friends would be put in decent quarters, as the servant promised. Eredolyn would need to ask Saruman about that, when she got the chance...  
The young girl looked at her surroundings: in front of her was a room that had its own balcony. _Great!_ Eredolyn thought. _This is too easy! I'll just tie up some blankets, scale down, and _– Suddenly she was hit by the nauseating realization that actually scaling down several stories on actual flimsy bedsheets was easier said than done. Fear immediately gripped her stomach.  
"Dang it!" Eredolyn muttered. "If I'm stuck in Middle Earth, why couldn't I have gotten the fearless attitude for it?" The girl finally slumped her shoulders and decided to take a look around. At the moment, thousands of feet up with servants at her door, there was nothing she could do. Eredolyn noticed that the walls of the room were draped with various tapestries and paintings. Eredolyn's eyes scanned the intricate panels with delight, but could barely recognize any of their legends, sadly. Perhaps Saruman could tell her about them... Eredolyn tried to shake that thought out of her head, and let herself wander into the next room: a sitting room.  
Light flooded in, bathing the silver couches, and the warm wind played softly with the cream curtains. Eredolyn's mouth gaped, but quickly snapped shut. _Don't let any of this get to you,_ she told herself. _Saruman is still evil. _She went on to the last room. There was a large bed almost drowned in satin pillows. It had an embroidered white silk coverlet. Eredolyn had never imagined a bed as rich as this.  
_Saruman...is still evil.  
_There was an oak wardrobe against one wall. Eredolyn pulled on a bronze knob and reached into the closet's dark interior. Her hand touched robes: long, silken robes in dozens of colors. There were gowns, too, and intricate woven belts of silver and gold. At last Eredolyn pulled out a long velvet gown, a dark, deep, purple hue, trimmed in black lace.  
_Saruman...is still...  
_Taking the velvet gown into her arms, almost cradling the delicate cloth, Eredolyn wandered about her chambers in utter confusion._ Now hold on, _Eredolyn told herself. _This old man has given you the nicest chambers in Orthanc. So what exactly makes him evil?  
All bad stuff he's done...I guess.  
Who says he really did all that bad stuff?  
Well, the books... _Eredolyn stopped and stared again at the tapestries: all the scenes of legends and battles she couldn't decipher.  
_The books? You're gonna trust a few paperback books? This is the _real _Middle Earth you're in. There are tales and lore here that Tolkien never even mentioned. How can you trust what some old college professor wrote half a century ago?_ Eredolyn strayed to the balcony and looked at the mountains looming against the sky. She wished the voice would go away, but she couldn't deny, there was some truth to it.  
_Everything is different now: this isn't just imagination anymore. It's real. So what really determines right and wrong in this place? What makes Elves good? What makes orcs nasty? What makes Saruman evil?  
_"I...I don't know!" Eredolyn cried this out loud and buried her face in her cradled gown. Just then a bell rang in her room. It was noon. Saruman wanted to have a meal with Eredolyn and discuss the history of Rohan. The real history... But Eredolyn had more sense than to trust that voice in her head. All she had to rely on in this place was Tolkien's writings, so that was what she would believe. This would be no more than an intellectual discussion.  
"I'm coming," Eredolyn called, quickly pulling off her clothes so she could don the velvet gown. "I'm coming, Master Wizard." 


	13. Of Trust and Traitors

_**Muse Quest ****Chapter 13: Of Trust and Traitors**_

Taras stopped pacing abruptly. He could hear someone coming toward him down the corridor. He strained his ears: the endless choking silence of prison had sharpened his hearing, and he could make out… an uruk – two uruks – and a female voice, probably the prisoner. Must be one of that group he'd heard earlier. He peered uselessly through the barred window set in his cell door, craning his neck for the sight of something – anything – new to think about. His mind was sick and fatigued with worrying at the same thoughts and fears over and over.  
He could just make out the three figures: two hulking orcs and a smaller outline between them, struggling wildly. Suddenly the prisoner went limp. Taras pressed closer to the bars, trying to see what had happened – his eyes went wide. It had been a trick; the prisoner hurled herself at one of her captors. There was a brief scuffle, then the girl was hurtling away from the guards, down the corridor toward Taras.  
His fists clenched the bars convulsively. The girl was small-boned, with a pale, dirty face and beautiful long dark hair –  
"Lothiriel!" he gasped.  
She ran desperately, one hand cradled against her as if in pain. She had almost reached his cell when an uruk caught up with her; he threw out a hand and caught a fistful of her hair. She shrieked as her head snapped backwards, and she would have landed flat on her back if the orc hadn't kept his hold. Gasping with pain, she scrambled frantically to get her feet back under her.  
Taras abruptly realized he was shouting. More than shouting, he was screaming challenges and oaths, lunging at his enormous heavy door in a mindless effort to get to that orc. "Get away from her, you misbegotten swine – if you touch my sister again, I swear before all the Valar that I'll rip your putrid head from your body, let go of her now!" he yelled in an almost demented rage, bruising himself against the unyielding wood and iron.  
The uruk sneered something in the Black Speech and kicked his captive into the cell across from Taras, laughing obscenely. He joined his companion, whose nose was bleeding copiously from the girl's attack, and together they stumped away down the hall, Taras hurling insults and challenges after them and nearly pulling his bars from their sockets. From across the hall, he heard movements. He stopped shouting immediately.  
"Lothiriel?" he asked desperately. "Are you all right? What are you doing here?"  
She moaned.  
"Lothiriel?" Taras asked again, frantic. Oh, Valar, let her be all right, it's all my fault if she came looking for me, please don't let her be…  
"What?" she asked groggily. "I mean, no. My name isn't Lothiriel."  
Taras blinked stupidly, a strange mix of disappointment and relief rushing through him. He sagged against his door, panting a little as the adrenaline subsided. "Who are you, then?"  
"Um," she panted, making little pained hissing noises. "Oohhh. My name's Dilly. Who're you? And who's – ouch – sorry – Lothiriel?"  
"She's my sister. I'm – sorry, you look like her, I thought – Well if she were here it would be – and I saw those orcs treating her – I mean you –" Taras realized he was babbling. "I got mad," he finished lamely.  
"I could tell," Dilly said wryly, ending on a faint gasp of pain. There were more sounds of movement, and a hand gripped the little window set in her door. A face followed, framed in rich, dark hair that was almost lost in the gloom. Dilly smiled crookedly at Taras as he peered through his own small window at her. She was very pretty, and Taras absurdly wished he'd had some way to get rid of his matted hair and beard. Dilly regarded him strangely. "What did you say your name was?"  
"Taras," he said, then realized that it was usual to provide somewhat more than that. "Formerly of Dol Amroth," he added belatedly and rather bitterly.  
"…Formerly?" Dilly asked.  
There was a pause. "I've been in here almost three years now," he said, and the interminable misery of that statement washed grimly over both of them.  
"Three years," breathed Dilly at last.  
Taras looked up at her, feeling the beginnings of a strange feeling in his chest. He began to realize what it meant to have someone here – someone to talk to. No more silence, no more restless pacing in the darkness, someone to laugh and sing with… Taras bit his lip with the potency of the new feeling, and clutched at his prison bars like a lifeline. "Don't worry," he said, joy and relief choking his voice. "It won't be nearly so bad now with – with someone else here. I am very glad to meet you, Lady Dilly."  
She laughed a little, and Taras jumped at the sound. "Pleased to meet you too, Taras… although the circumstances leave something to be desired."  
"Trust me, my lady, they are infinitely more desirable since being graced with your fair presence," he answered with happy gallantry. She rubbed two fingers against her face, which was streaked with blood and grime, and snorted in a way unbecoming of a fair and graceful lady. Taras was reminded again of his sister; he grinned at her and was puzzled when she blushed.  
"So," he said, happiness welling through his veins, "How did you end up down here?"  
She hesitated. "It's a long story," she said.  
"Are you doing anything else?"  
She considered, teasing. "No, I think I can squeeze in some time," she said, and began: "Well, me and some friends – we call ourselves the Immies, after the Immortal Four, you know, because we're presidents of the Tolkien club at school –" she trailed off. Taras was looking blank. "Um, well, anyway, the Immies and I have been reading this story…" As Dilly's strange tale unfolded, Taras felt she was trying desperately to tone down the bizarre nature of the whole thing; several times she had to pause and search for words he would understand.  
Despite everything, though, at the end of her story there was a very long, very confused silence. "Oh," said Taras at last.  
"Hey, I know it sounds nuts," Dilly protested. "It seems just as crazy to me, too."  
Taras nodded uncertainly. After a pause, he asked warily, "Ah – have you been talking to Saruman, by any chance?"  
"Yes, just got back," Dilly said, shivering a little at the memory. "Why? …Taras?"  
He drew back from his barred window uncertainly. "Uh, nothing," he said hastily, narrowing his eyes at her. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go to sleep now."  
Dilly looked hurt and confused. "Oh… ok, I guess. Well, 'bye, then."

Taras nodded and withdrew into the darkness of his cell, berating himself silently. _Stupid_, he thought. _Falling all over with joy at a companion when I don't know anything about her_. He glanced up at his window, remembering her face, and couldn't quite believe she was working for Saruman. She was probably still just bewitched, from talking to the wizard. He would have to be careful until she started making more sense, that's all: he would be sure not to speak of anything that he didn't want Saruman to know. It would be hard – the taste of words was still new and intoxicating on his tongue, and he was desperately lonely. But –_ Remember what happened last time you trusted someone too_ _quickly,_ he reminded himself fiercely, and this time, he didn't push away the memory of Maenadan's leering face. He'd spent so much time trying to avoid remembering, but now he welcomed the crowding images, setting them carefully in order, from the time Maenadan first entered Lord Imrahil's household… Maenadan… laughing… talking and joking together… Maenadan flirting with Lothiriel… Taras's father beaming with approval… "_Why don't you like him, 'Riel?" Taras asked his sister, only half-teasing. _"_He's just… I don't trust him – He's too…" She threw up her hands and laughed in exasperation. "I'm not sure why, really."  
And Taras had been confused, and his father as well. Prince Imrahil was very proud of his new captain; Maenadan was so handsome and clever. But he and his son both doted on Lothiriel, and if she didn't love the dashing soldier...  
"It's time she settled down. The times are bad; war is coming. I would rest easier if she were married, and had someone to care for her," Imrahil said. "Perhaps I should send you both to Rohan – she has always enjoyed the land of the horse-lords…"  
"One horse-lord in particular," Taras said slyly, and they both laughed, and Taras and his sister had begun preparations for a journey to the Golden Hall. Maenadan offered to accompany them...  
_Taras jerked himself away from the memory, the familiar hopeless fury welling in his chest. _Enough!_ He had learned his lesson well. He would not think – he would not remember –  
He leapt to his feet and began pacing again. But his thoughts would not leave him alone; they plucked insistently at his mind, showing him Dilly's face. Someone to talk to… He began to wonder whether he had been rude. If she was merely bewildered by Saruman's spell, he shouldn't have acted so suspicious. He thought about getting up and apologizing, but pride and lingering suspicion kept him quiet. He would try again in an hour or so, and hope that she was recovered. Taras settled against a wall, suppressing his excitement, wondering what they could safely talk about… After an eternity of deafening silence, he stood up again, staring carefully into the gloom beyond his window-bars.  
"Ah – Lady Dilly?" he ventured. He didn't know if she was really a lady, but it couldn't hurt. "I think I owe you an apology."  
"No," she sighed, and he could hear her getting up. She peered through the bars at him. "I know it's a crazy story. It scared Wlore, too, I think."  
"You know Wlore?" Taras asked delightedly.  
"Yeah, we were in a cell together for a while. How do you know her?"  
"She was imprisoned down the hall several months ago. We would shout back and forth until the orcs heard and took her back to the kitchens." He shook his head. "I honestly can't imagine her as a servant, however hard I try."  
"Me neither," Dilly grinned. "She was in with me for beating up a character from Coralie's story, of all the crazy coincidences. I saw the girl – Drysi – after our audience with Saruman… Two black eyes, and so mad!"  
"Wlore went with you to see Saruman?" Taras asked cautiously. Now he could find out just what had gone on in that interview, and how careful he would have to be.  
"Yes, there was me, Wlore, and all the other Immies except Eicys." She sighed bleakly. "We still don't know what happened to Eicys… Cebu said she might be dead. I – I'm really worried about her. And about Eredolyn, too: Saruman focused everything on her. Hardly even spoke to the rest of us."  
Taras nodded sympathetically, scratching at his maddening beard. "So – he didn't address you personally, then?" he asked, unable to help himself.  
"No," said Dilly curiously. Suddenly she laughed. "Oh, that's what this is about? You think I'm under his spell or something?"  
"You can't be too careful," said Taras stiffly, but he was almost dancing with relief. "And after that story – "  
Dilly nodded resignedly. "But think about it – If Saruman sent me, would he give me such a ridiculous story to tell you? Coming from the future, or another world, or whatever? Or if it were just me, trying to tell lies, do you think I'd come up with such a stupid one?"  
"I guess not," Taras conceded, finally convinced. He was still inclined to attribute a lot of Dilly's story to her being knocked on the head by orcs, but he felt confident he could trust her now – at least a little. He never planned on trusting anyone fully again, after Maenadan. He looked up, smiling, and saw Dilly's dark head bent over. She was fumbling with something. "What are you doing?" he asked.  
She glanced up at him. "I'm trying to bandage my hand. Kinda awkward."  
He remembered she was hurt. "What happened to it?"  
"Oh," she laughed a little, embarassed, and Taras jumped again. It had been so long since he'd heard anyone laugh. "I – I punched one of the orcs and forgot to leave out the thumb. Honestly, my best friend's a black belt and I can't even remember the right way to make a fist."  
"A black belt?"  
Dilly laughed again. "I keep forgetting. Sorry. That just means she's really good at beating people up."  
Taras raised his eyebrows. "Women in Middle Earth have been acting very strangely of late," he muttered.  
"Hey, I told you, we're not from around here," Dilly reminded him. She bent her head again over her hand, trying to tie off her bandage with her teeth. "So, how did you end up in this place?" she asked through a mouthful of cloth.

* * *

_With dreamlike horror and a weird sense of unreality, Taras ran and turned to fight and ran again, knowing as he bled and staggered and thrust that at least he had saved his sister and his friend, and knowing too that he was going to die.  
At last an orc managed a crippling blow: he felt a sort of crunching on his side, and stumbled. The pain and the orc hit him at the same time, driving him to the ground. Agony lanced from his ribs all the way to his skull, and the orc loomed over him, grotesque against the starry sky, raising his weapon, higher, Taras convulsed and helpless with pain –  
The orc brought his scimitar down, and met Maenadan's sword with a jarring clang. Taras' friend heaved upwards and the orc staggered back; Taras was crumpled by his feet, gasping with relief and hurt. "Maenadan…"  
__Maenadan looked down disdainfully, and placed his sword at Taras' throat. Taras could only stare. "Mae –"  
The sword pressed closer, and its bearer was smiling. The orcs hung back, jostling and jeering. "What are you doing?" Taras cried, and the orcs caught his words and yelled them back mockingly: "What are you doing? What are you doing?"  
_"_This," said Maenadan, and kicked Taras in the ribs, where the blood was spreading steadily. Taras doubled up, white-hot pain clawing its way through his body, hurting too much even to scream. Maenadan leaned down and grabbed his hair. "What do you have to say now, Taras? Father Imrahil's favorite? Oh, how I've longed to do this. Always so lordly and laughing, so condescending to the new captain – what do you have to say now?" He released Taras' hair and stood again, his blade tracing raw lines across Taras' throat.  
_"_Why?" Taras gasped.  
__Maenadan spat at him. "If you need to ask, you are stupider even than I thought. For everything that is good in life, everything that you had and took for granted while those more deserving lived in squalor. For the inheritance of a prince of Dol Amroth."  
_"_You won't… Lothiriel…My father would never…" Taras spoke through a haze of pain. "It goes to my sister if I die."  
_"_On the contrary," Maenadan sneered. "It goes to your sister's husband." He waited a moment for that to sink in, and when it did, Taras howled and would have lunged, but met the sword tip at his throat.  
_"_She'll never marry you," Taras snarled, such hatred in his eyes that Maenadan stepped back, startled. But he just as quickly leaned forward again, realizing Taras' helplessness.  
_"_Oh, I think she will," he said with quiet malice. "Especially when she learns that her brother's life depends upon her doing so." Maenadan smiled into the look of dawning horror on Taras' face. "Don't worry, my friend," he leered. "I'll take good care of little Lothiriel."

* * *

_

"Taras?" Dilly asked again, watching him worriedly. "Taras!"  
He jumped and met her eyes, then looked away again quickly, her face wavering in and through the memory. "I – I'd rather not …" he stammered, trying to get a grip on himself. "I'm sorry – I don't… don't like to remember that story…"  
"It's all right," she told him, still looking anxious. "Don't worry about it."  
Taras nodded haltingly, shaking the images from his mind. He would not think about that any more, he had something else now to think about, instead of replaying that horrible night over and over in his mind. He tried to listen to Dilly, knowing she was talking to give him time to recover. He was grateful for it, but angry at himself for being so obvious.Still, after several minutes he was himself again – or as much of himself as remained after that night, and the endless nights that followed it. Taras had learned his lesson well indeed: he would not soon trust anyone again.


	14. Sing, O Muse, of spoons

_**Muse Quest ****Chapter 14: Sing, O Muse, of spoons...**_

Although Ungrath had left for guard duty some time ago, Eicys was still wandering through the dungeons, trying to find all the prisoners that needed feeding in the hundreds of cells beneath Orthanc. She was practicing an appropriately orcish shuffle and wondering quietly about the astonishing friendship she'd struck up with the big uruk. She couldn't deny that she felt distinctly uncomfortable with him: he was huge and ugly and smelly and frightening and an orc , for Pete's sake – but… Eicys sighed. He didn't fit in here any more than she did, and he was desperately lonely. And he had those mismatched eyes – they looked almost – almost – human. It was downright weird.

Eicys was startled out of her thoughts – and almost out of her wits (you try hanging around in a dark orc-infested dungeon sometime) – by a nearby jumble of orcish voices. Her friends, looking much the worse for wear after their audience with Saruman, were being tugged along by what seemed a small army of uruk-hai guards. She raced down the short corridor after the group as they turned a corner into the gloom. The guards had already begun to split up the group. Eredolyn was nowhere in sight, and as Eicys watched, Dilly was pulled away by two orcs and hauled down a branching corridor to the right. Eicys frantically tried to consign the hall to memory as she crept after the others: her sister Cebu, Tuima, and that blonde girl she'd seen earlier. The blonde girl was soon taken away in much the same manner as Dilly had been – that is to say, struggling furiously – with the addition of a few colorful curses and some very stinging comments on her captors' appearance, smell, and intelligence (or lack thereof). By the time she was halfway down the corridor and had begun on their relations ("_When the maggot-ridden skunk that was your father saw you for the first time, he fell dead from shame and was set upon by the horde of piebald weasels that are your brothers!"_) Eicys was grinning with a nervous sort of respect.  
Thinking that someone so obviously warlike might be helpful in the eventual escape plan, Eicys added the location of the girl's cell to her mental map and hurried to catch up to Tuima and Cebu.  
But when she skidded around a corner, the girls and their guards had disappeared. Eicys stood staring in bewilderment, horror-struck at the thought of having lost them in this maze. She turned in a nervous circle, caught one leg on the protruding armor of the other, and fell with a clatter and a puff of grime.  
Eicys hauled herself gamely to her feet and was trying to rearrange her bent breastplate when she heard a faint snort. She turned and saw Tuima looking at her through the barred window of her cell. Tuima obviously didn't recognize her, and was trying to stifle curiosity with huge boatloads of contempt. Eicys giggled.  
Tuima blinked, squinted, and joyfully cried, "Eicys!" She thrust a hand through her bars and Eicys clapped it in a muddy gauntlet. "What on Arda are you dressed as? Cebu told us you were dead!"  
Eicys sobered. "Really?" she asked gloomily. "I tried to let her know, but I guess the disguise was too good."  
"It's certainly convincing," Tuima agreed.  
"Should I be insulted?" Eicys wondered slyly, and they both laughed, more from relief than anything. "Seriously, though, I had better find Cebu quick before she worries herself to death," said Eicys. "Do you know where they put her?"  
"No idea," Tuima told her sadly. "And from the way Cebu was carrying on, she might already have died. She was pretty frantic."  
Eicys was obscurely flattered under her concern. "What happened?"  
"Well, after our audience with Curunir – yes, we spoke to him. And I never want to do it again – he called Cebu back into his chamber, and a few minutes later we heard her positively shrieking, and Curunir -- er, sorry, I mean Saruman -- yelling and bellowing like a crazed bull." A slight smile crept across Tuima's face. "She told me on the way down – after nearly strangling a household servant – that she had pulled out half of the wizard's beard."  
Underneath her mud and paint, Eicys looked impressed, as well as amused at the expression of vengeful longing that drifted across the prisoner's face. "I had better go look for her, then," she said.  
"Wait," Tuima started, then after a brief battle with her pride, asked: "Do you have a plan?"  
"Not yet. But I'm learning quite a lot – and…" She held up a ring of jangling keys, triumphant. "I am in charge of 'feeding the prisoners'."  
"Excellent!" Tuima said. "Let me out."  
"Not dinner time," said Eicys.  
"Ei-cys!"  
"I'm kidding!" Eicys said hurriedly, thrusting a key at Tuima's door. She stopped with her hand still on it. "Wait. What am I doing?"  
"Letting… me… out," Tuima said slowly and clearly. "Yes of course – but what then?"  
"Then I will be out. No longer in. Out , Eicys. Hurry, please."  
"No. Listen." Eicys caught sight of Tuima's expression and hurried on: "Say I let you out. What then? We don't know where Cebu is, or Eredolyn." Tuima started to say something here, but Eicys talked over her. "We don't have any weapons, disguises, excuses… we don't even have a map. We don't have a plan , Tuima."  
"So I am supposed to stay happily in my cozy little cell waiting for Saruman's torturers to show up?" Tuima asked acidly. When Eicys stared, she said, "This is a dungeon, Eicys. Our stay here is not supposed to be pleasant. I can hear –" Tuima broke off, shuddering and staring at the wall. "Can't you hear it?"  
Eicys shook her head slowly and nervously. "Hear what?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.  
"Screaming," Tuima said bluntly, but softly. She was shaking a little. "Lots of screaming."  
Eicys listened hard, and was fervently relieved not to hear anything. "You must have really good ears," she said, and looked at them. She realized something: "Hey, you still have those fake points on."  
Tuima snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her blankly. "Dilly said something about my ears, too," she said, tugging at the tips. "All elves have ears like this."  
"All… elves…" Eicys choked. "What? "  
Tuima graced her with a faintly sarcastic, puzzled look. Eicys stared, blinked, and finally just shrugged. After all, why not? Everything else so far had certainly been weird enough. "What do you think we ought to do then?"  
Tuima frowned at the floor. "I – I don't know."  
"What happened to the whole ageless ancient wisdom schpiel?" asked Eicys, only half joking. "Haven't you ever had to orchestrate an escape in all your however-many-millenia?"  
"No," said Tuima curiously. "And I am nowhere near a millenia in age. I am only two hundred and eighty-two."  
"Only," muttered Eicys.  
"I read a great deal during Cebu's captivity," Tuima said pensively. "Most of the stories… fanfics?... your people have written about Middle-earth describe elleths who were warriors and went on long adventures. It all seems very strange to me. I am much better with herbs and gardens and books."  
"But…" Eicys faltered. "Oh." She frowned, and said, "But you had those knives – I saw them – and you were a great tracker, and you, er, well, blew up at the others pretty bad that one time…"  
Tuima blushed faintly. "I do have a terrible temper," she admitted. "And Haldir taught me about tracking and knives –" she blushed darker – "But that was mostly because I pestered him."  
Eicys valiantly stifled giggles as Tuima blushed still darker. "You like Haldir?" she asked.  
"Er. No," Tuima said brusquely. "So what do you think we should do about the escape?"  
Eicys giggled some more but laid out her idea: "I think you guys will have to wait for a few days while I find out more about Orthanc. I'll try and steal some weapons and stuff, and then we'll have to wait for the 'opportune moment'." She said the last words in a strange deep voice. Tuima looked blank. "You know," said Eicys. "Pirates of the… Never mind. But listen, you don't think Saruman will… do anything to you… for a couple days? I need time."  
Tuima looked glum. "No, I think you'll be all right. I think Saruman will be focusing everything on Eredolyn for a while. He'll only turn… violent… with us if she doesn't cooperate."  
"Why? What's going on with Eredolyn?" Eicys demanded.  
Tuima stared at the floor. "His voice… he…"  
"She fell for it?" Eicys groaned. "But Eredolyn's read Lord of the Rings a billion times – she ought to know better!"  
"He offered her his library."  
"Oh."  
"Not that the idea isn't tempting…" Tuima said a little wistfully.  
"Tuima! Concentrate!"  
"I am," the elf said crossly. "Listen, you probably have a few days – but that's if Eredolyn holds out, and I don't know that she will."  
"She'd better," said Eicys.  
"Yes," Tuima said, pleading in her voice. "But listen. It would be better for you to spend your time trying to talk Eredolyn out from Curunir's spell. He must not find out about the Ring – Eicys, my whole world will be destroyed if she lets her guard down for an instant. Next to that… we aren't important. Concentrate on Eredolyn."  
Eicys hesitated, then nodded. She didn't like this at all. "I'll do what I can. But I'm not going to leave my sister and my friends down here – we're getting out of this pit if it's the last thing I do." She said it so firmly and confidently that Tuima smiled, but a little sadly. However unpleasant and surprising, this was still just a story to Eicys.  
Eicys smiled back at the elf, earning a scolding – "You can't let anyone see your teeth; they don't look at all orcish" – and set off to find Cebu ("first things first," she thought. "And Saruman probably won't start in on Eredolyn for a few hours… I hope.")  
Tuima sighed despondently and watched her leave. "Namarie," she sighed as Eicys disappeared into the gloom. "Be careful ."

* * *

But Eicys couldn't find her sister anywhere. Well into the third hour of useless searching, she was so turned around that she could hardly be certain of where the exit was, much less her friends, still less her sister. She grew increasingly nervous, and after a while she felt exhausted from tromping around in heavy armor, quietly calling Cebu's name, and leaping for cover when any other orcs passed by. She curled up in a recess for a short rest. _I'll just sit down for a minute_, she told herself._ I won't fall asleep… or... anything…  
_" Here ye are!"  
Eicys woke to a prod, and bolted upright in terror.  
"Right jumpy liddle thing ye are, hey?"  
"Ungrath!" Eicys said weakly. "Don't do that!" She hurriedly pulled her helmet straight and tucked in her telltale blonde hair, peering up at Ungrath's terrible face.  
"'S almost night. Yeh oughter be i' the barracks; I bin lookin' fer ye all over," he said, offering a mottled hand with disturbingly efficient-looking claws. Eicys took it gingerly, scrambling to her feet. She still didn't like touching him.  
"Um, thanks," she said. "I didn't realize it was so late."  
"What've ye bin doin' down here fer so long?" asked Ungrath, setting off down the corridor.  
"Staying out of trouble," Eicys replied, trotting to keep up. _Well, it's true_ , she thought. _Sort of. _  
Ungrath saw her bobbing behind, and slowed down to look at her consideringly.  
"Good idea," he grunted at last. "But ye shouldn't sleep down here, the dungeon guards are s'posed teh be a rough lot."  
Eicys nodded, to show that she had heard. The two had reached the top of the staircase before Ungrath jerked his head toward Eicys. "Yer hair is still showin'."  
Eicys' hand flew to the edge of her helmet and felt around it carefully, but there was nothing. Only when she looked up at Ungrath's appraising face did she realize he'd been testing her – and she'd failed. "Ungrath…" she started, her eyes huge. "Um…"  
"D'ye think I'm stupid then, as well as ugly?" he grated.  
"No! No, I… I'm sorry, Ungrath! Please… You won't tell anyone, will you?" Eicys looked up at him desperately.  
There was a long pause. "I knew ye were different righ' off," he said. "An' it's a bad idea to be different 'round here. I won't tell."  
"Thank you!" she said, in a muffled voice. Ungrath jumped: Eicys was hugging him. She let go quickly, and there was a long and uncomfortable silence. Eicys was beginning to feel extremely stupid (and also somewhat unpleasant – it's not particularly enjoyable hugging an orc even when you are almost dizzy with relief), but Ungrath patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Eicys felt more stupid than ever, and muttered, "Sorry," to the floor. He grunted and waved her on in the direction of the barracks, stumping along behind with a confused, crooked smile on his ugly face.

* * *

**_Da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da-da d'da._** Cebu banged out the notes of Jingle Bells on the bars of her cell, using the gruel spoon from her previous captivity. She had discovered it in her pocket a long time ago and was (still, four hours later) venting her frustration by driving the orcish guard down the corridor absolutely insane.  
"Can't you stop that #!$ racket?" he yelled in agony. He would have come and shut her up forcibly if he'd had a key, but he was just a sentry.  
**_Da-da-da d'da da-da, d'da-da-da-da-da-da!_**, Cebu responded with renewed vigor. The sentry hunkered down with his hands over his ears and muttered swearwords. Cebu waited with a kind of sadistic patience until he cautiously unstopped his ears. **"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaaaaaay!**" she hollered, accompanying herself loudly with the spoon.  
"AAAURGH! That's it ! I'm outta here!" The orc flung himself down the hall, spear forgotten, followed by a violent percussion rendition of the Christmas classic.  
When his swearing had died into the distance, Cebu slumped to the floor of her cell, tears of frustrated sorrow leaking from her eyes. She stared miserably at her reflection in the spoon. Blurry with tears, it looked a lot like her little sister. "Eicys…" she sobbed. "Eicys."  
"What?" said a voice.  
Cebu sat bolt upright. "Eicys?"  
"Yes?" The voice was coming from the spoon . Cebu shrieked and threw it against the wall. "Ouch!" said the voice.  
"I've completely lost it," Cebu said in a monotone. "My spoon is talking to me."  
"I beg your pardon," said the spoon indignantly.  
"I give it you," Cebu answered dizzily, thinking of Gandalf's line from The Hobbit . "I've gone insane."  
"Ah." There was a rustle in the corner where she'd thrown the spoon. "I wondered, what with the song and so forth." There was a pause. "But then how do you know my name?"  
"Eicys?"  
"Oh. I thought you said Euterpe. I'm afraid my ears were still ringing a little from your – ah – musical number."  
"Sorry," said Cebu numbly. She imagined it wouldn't be pleasant to be a drumstick – er, drumspoon.  
"No, no, quite all right. You did manage to get rid of the guard, after all."  
Cebu peered into the corner where the spoon ought to be. It was almost completely black, but she could see something moving… "You're not a spoon!" she cried.  
"Of course not," said the woman with a touch of aspersion. "I am a muse . My name is Euterpe."  
A slightly stunned silence followed this pronouncement, during which Euterpe picked up the dropped spoon and smiled at her bewildered cellmate.  
"I'm Cebu," Cebu managed at last.  
"Charmed," said Euterpe politely.  
"Terrified," Cebu responded in the same tone.  
"What?"  
"I really have gone insane. You just told me you were the Muse of lyric poetry."  
"Of course I did."  
"But you're supposed to be in Greece ! This is Middle-earth!" Cebu said indignantly.  
"No, it isn't."  
"Yes, it is. Note: dungeon. Orcs. Evil wizard named Saruman. Leaves from Fangorn Forest still stuck in my hair. Middle-earth ." Cebu knew she wasn't being exactly polite, but she was still numb with fright over Eicys' fate. _Saruman had been lying _, she told herself. She had seen that goblin with the blue eyes wink at her. Eicys was alive. She had to be.  
"This is not Tolkien's Middle-earth. It is a spin-off, belonging to a writer named Lady Coralie," the muse told Cebu patiently.  
"Yes it – what ?" Cebu said, completely thrown.  
"It is a spin-off, belonging to –"  
"No, I heard you. But… but…" Cebu tried to pull herself together. "Coralie didn't put any muses in her story!"  
"No, but she is in need of muses nonetheless. She never finished her tale."  
"No kidding," Cebu muttered.  
"So my eight sisters and I," said Euterpe, waving Cebu's dropped spoon like a scepter, "patrons of artists, writers, and musicians, the divine daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, have come to inspire her, so that the story canon may proceed and the Third Age come to an end, and that a vast multitude of her readers may at last have peace."  
"Oh," said Cebu. There was a long pause. "Um, can I have my spoon back now?" 


	15. Eicys's Bad Day

_Author's note-Thanks everyone for coming back and reading! We're glad you're enjoying it! Here's the routine disclaimer-  
Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think._

**MuseQuest  
****Chapter 15: Eicys' Bad Day**

Eicys woke up early the next morning, feeling grimy and sore. She eased carefully away from Ungrath, who had slept on the same… well, it wasn't a bed. Or a bunk. …On the same board as her. He muttered something about "tell Sharkey" and turned over. Eicys gulped, and sidled gingerly through the rows of slumbering orcs, feeling queasy and nervous. Ungrath _wouldn't_ tell Saruman about her… would he? He had promised.  
_But he's an orc.  
_Eicys shuddered and hurried out of the barracks. She tried to scrounge for something edible in the orc's mess hall and was severely – and nauseatingly – disappointed. And when she was leaving, she caught one leg on the bent armor of another and knocked into a breakfasting uruk, who snarled and threw her bodily out the door, adding at least five new bruises to her collection. All the orcs who had to work in the daytime were usually in a foul temper.

She picked herself up and limped into the tower. Today she was going to find Eredolyn – and she planned to stay well away from everyone – especially Ungrath – while she searched.  
This turned out to be much easier said than done. Eicys had been scouring the upper floors of Orthanc for almost two hours with no luck when Ungrath caught up with her. He was looking haggard, with his long matted hair sticking up oddly and grayish shadows under his eyes, as though he had slept badly.  
"Where've ye been?" he demanded, grabbing her arm. Eicys tried to twist away, but he held her easily; her arm was dwarfed by his enormous fist. "Answer!" he said, shaking her so that her armor rattled and flakes of the mud and paint that were her disguised sloughed away.  
"Stop it!" Eicys squeaked. "Ungrath!" He let go, looking sullen and embarrassed. Eicys took a shaky breath. "I'm looking for a fr… a prisoner of Saru – Sharkey. I got lost."  
He stared at her and Eicys rubbed surreptitiously at her newest bruise. Ungrath didn't know his own strength… she hoped.  
Finally he said, "I thought ye agreed I wasn't stupid."  
Eicys blinked. "Las' night," he persevered. "I know what ye are, Eicys. No point in more lyin'." He folded his heavy mottled arms and glowered at her. Eicys swallowed. "Look…" she began, and then stopped, frightened and angry. Finally she snapped, "I see a very good point in lying," and turned to go.  
"Stop!" roared Ungrath, and Eicys did, with her back still to him. She didn't dare do otherwise. When the last growling echoes faded from her ears, she turned around again, trembling – whether with fear or fury, she didn't know.  
"Listen," she said. "You think you can boss me around, shake me up – hit me?" He flinched at that, but Eicys plowed on. "You follow me around and trick me into telling you things and then yell when I don't want to give you even more information to get me killed with?" Ungrath's eyes blazed with anger and hurt. Eicys was struck with guilt. She knew she was being unfair – she probably would never have survived so far without him – but she was hungry, tired, angry, dirty, bruised, and very, very, frightened. And she felt betrayed. "I trusted you!" she said.  
"No, ye didn't," Ungrath said quietly. His face was tight with controlling his temper. "Ye never did. Ye were always lookin' at me an' thinkin', he's just an orc, I hafta be careful. It wasn' hard teh see. An' now – ye think I'm gonna tell? I said I wouldn', didn't I? But I'm just an orc." He glared at her. "Well, you're just a human." And he turned and stalked away down the corridor.  
Eicys stood rooted to the spot, watching him go. When he disappeared around a corner, she suddenly broke out of her shock. "Ungrath!" she cried, running after him. "Wait!"  
She tripped on her armor again and fell flat with a clattering bang that reverberated off the obsidian walls. "Augh!" yelled Eicys, close to tears. She yanked off the bent greave that kept tripping her up and hurled it against the wall. "Ungrath!" she called, scrambling to get up again. "Un –"

"What's all this noise about?" someone demanded. Eicys froze, horribly conscious of her jeans showing where the greave was missing, and of the fact that she had been yelling in her normal voice. She turned around slowly.  
Her eyes traveled up the long, rippling length of exquisite purple velvet, noted the golden belt and the full sleeves, paused for a moment on the thick leather book tucked under one arm, and finally came to rest on the frowning face framed in short brown hair.  
"Eredolyn?" she breathed.  
Eredolyn didn't seem to hear. "I'm trying to read," she said irritably. "And it is very difficult when … people… outside are rushing about and yelling and banging things. Please go away."  
"Eredolyn!" Eicys said. "It's me!"  
Eredolyn seemed to look at her for the first time. "Your eyes are the wrong color," she said slowly. "And how do you know my…" She paused. "Eicys?"  
Eicys beamed. "Ere! I can't believe I found you! It's been awful, you have no idea, and I think I've just made it worse…" She looked sadly down the corridor where Ungrath had disappeared. "Listen, is there somewhere safe we can go to talk?"  
Eredolyn hesitated, then waved the false orc through a door. Eicys snatched her greave and hopped through, trying to re-fasten it as she went. Inside the door was an incredible library, filled with books and scrolls and flickering candelabra.  
And sitting in one of the high-backed leather chairs was…  
"Saruman!" Eredolyn said in happy surprise. "I didn't see you come in."  
"Good morning, Lady Eredolyn," the wizard said, his deep, alluring voice rolling off the walls. "I simply dropped by to see how you are enjoying the book I recommended."  
"Oh, it's wonderful!" Eredolyn gushed, blushing at being called a Lady. "But I was hoping you could explain this story about Frealaf, or maybe recommend some more books. I know you went to his coronation."  
"Ah, yes of course. It was about the same time I took up residence in Isengard…"

Since the appearance of the wizard, Eicys had been frozen in horrified shock. Now, beginning to recover a little, she crept backwards, groping for the door. _Can this day get any worse?_ she thought, appalled at the eager, slightly vacant expression on Eredolyn's face.

CRASH.  
A heavy iron candelabrum smashed to the floor and broken candles rolled in every direction. Eicys, feeling sick with terror, dropped to the floor and clumsily tried to pick them up.  
"Idiot orc!" Saruman snapped, his melodious voice black with fury. "Get out! I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed this morning!"  
Eicys mumbled something, cast one pleading look at Eredolyn's expression of annoyed unconcern, and fled.  
She didn't stop for at least five floors, feeling certain that Saruman knew everything, that he was sending servants out to look for her right now…_ And I was worried about Ungrath informing on me,_ she thought. _What was the point of that when I turn right around and betray myself? _  
Eicys sighed miserably. She wasn't sure what had happened back there with Ungrath –  
No. As Ungrath had said, there was no point in more lying. She knew exactly what had happened. Worse still, she knew he was right. Eicys thought miserably that everything that could have gone wrong so far, had.  
This just goes to show that you should never, ever, think that you have hit the bottom, because – especially in Middle earth and even more especially in Isengard – things can always get worse.

In this case, they got worse in the form of a gang of goblins who swung around the corner, jeering and snarling at each other. But they all stopped when they saw Eicys, and into each of their piggy eyes flicked an identical expression, the same worn by bullies everywhere: "Hah! Someone smaller!"  
"Ungra –" Eicys stopped mid-yell, choking. "Ungrath…" She backed away. "Oh, help," she muttered.  
"Ungrath, Ungrath, mammy!" mocked the orcs as they gathered around her. "So this is the liddle whiner he's picked up."  
"Get away from me!" Eicys snapped, feeling the wall behind her.  
"Ooh, he don't like us talkin' bad 'bout 'is mammy."  
"What're ya gonna do about it, maggot? Gonna kill us? Hey?" The orc shoved her shoulder, sneering. Eicys hunched in on herself and scanned the group for a gap to run through. Nothing. Well then, that meant she would have to make one. She launched herself at the smallest goblin and clawed her way past him, receiving a few more bruises and a nasty scrape on the way. Then she was hurtling down the corridor, five angry goblins on her heels.  
_Okay_, she thought. _**Now** things can't get any worse._  
Then the first orc caught up with her.

_I just had to think that, didn't I?_ Eicys asked herself as she was knocked heavily to the floor. She got in a few punches and managed a very effective kick to a place that even orcs do not appreciate having kicked, but then she was overwhelmed. She curled into a fetal position, with her hands wrapped around her head, and wished desperately that she was wearing twice as much armor. After a few minutes, the goblins grew bored with the unresponsive wimp huddled on the floor. They gave her a few more kicks, for the look of the thing, and wandered off, already fighting among themselves again. One of them was limping rather strangely.

Eicys uncurled painfully and sat up, sniffling and dabbing at a shallow cut under one eye. "Aa-a-ow ," she said, fighting tears. She tried to get to her feet and couldn't. "OW ," she moaned, and tried again. "Ow – ouch – ow – Ohh." She wavered unsteadily and looked down at her badly dented armor. There wasn't a single inch of her that didn't hurt. Valiantly sniffing back tears, Eicys made her way gingerly toward the dungeon. If she couldn't find Ungrath, she could at least talk to her friends. Even if all she had to tell them was bad news. But five steps from the end of the final flight of stairs, she tripped on her greave again.

Klunk_ clatter **CRASH**._

That did it. Eicys just lay at the bottom of the steps and cried, a bruised, gasping, exhausted heap that clattered with sobs. Tears poured down her face. _I want to go home, I want to go home,_ she thought. _Please, I just want to go home._  
Heavy footsteps made the torches flicker. Eicys choked down her tears and scrubbed furiously at her face. Mud and paint smeared off onto her hand, and she stared at it in horror. "Oh no oh no oh no…" she muttered, backing into a shadowy corner. It wasn't enough, she knew; after all that, she was going to be caught and thrown in the dungeon – or killed, or –  
"Ungrath!" she gasped.  
The big uruk stopped and stared at her, and she hurried forward. "Oh, Ungrath, I'm so sorry, I really – I mean, I know you were right and it was horrible of me, I'm really, really sorry…" And to her shame, she started crying again, big heaving sobs that she couldn't talk through. "Sorry – sorry," she wailed brokenly.  
Two hands gripped her shoulders gently, and she looked up into his eyes. His ugly face was shining with relief. "Don' cry," he said. "I'm sorry too. I thought –" He shook his head, choking a little. "Stupid," he muttered. Then he stopped, and peered into her face, where tears had left muddy tracks across her bruises. "What happened?" he demanded.  
She sniffed and wiped at her face. "Couple of orcs," she said unsteadily.  
His face contorted with anger. "Where?" he snarled.  
Eicys backed up a step. "Upstairs." He turned to go and she grabbed his arm. "Don't, Ungrath – they're long gone by now. And what good would it do?" He just snarled again, a terrible sound. Eicys flinched, but kept her hand on his arm. "Please… it's okay, really, I'm all right," she said.  
He stared at her, at her hand, and slowly his fists eased and opened. "'S what I was tryin' to stop from happenin' all this time," he said, miserably. "Came down here teh look for ye…"  
"You know me too well," Eicys laughed. It came out as a sob. "Ungrath… I'm really sorry. I've been absolutely horrible. Forgive me?" He nodded. And Eicys, who was nowhere near finished with her cry, stumbled forward and sobbed into the shoulder of a very startled orc.

* * *

Taras was feeling restless. Dilly was asleep, and so he had nothing to take his mind off the conflict raging inside it.  
He had stayed in the cell across the hall – Dilly's, now – for almost a year. Armed only with stubbornness and a rock he'd pried from the wall, he had spent the better part of that year hacking, tugging, and worrying at the already loose bars set in his cell door until they were ready to pull free. He had planned to escape the very next day, but had been hauled out of his cell that night for questioning – Saruman wanted some trivial bit of information about Dol Amroth, which Taras naturally refused to give him – and had been returned to the wrong cell. It was a torture far worse than the consequent lack of food that had been his punishment… to look through his new, sturdy bars and see the chipped ones across the hall, all ready to come loose. 

And now it was torture all over again. Should he tell her? Well, of course. He had to, it was only right – but should he tell her now ? What would she do when she found out? His heart clenched. Would she try to escape? He couldn't stand the thought. She would be caught, it was practically inevitable – a foreign, inexperienced, untrained girl – and then she would be hurt or… or worse…

And what about himself? Go back to pacing in the dark, never hearing another laugh or song or friendly voice for Valar only knew how many horrible years? And more than that – it was the thought of never hearing her laughter, her stories and ideas and memories, that made him feel as though his insides had turned to dust. It was a thought he couldn't face. He had been happier these last few days in her company than he had in years. Even before being captured, he had been serious and solitary, confiding only in his sister Lothiriel and –

He felt the old helpless, aching fury rise in his chest at the thought of Maenadan. If only he could get out, feel a sword in his fist and a swift horse between his legs, he would …  
Useless. Freedom was completely beyond his reach -_but not beyond hers.  
_Taras struck the wall angrily._ She would be killed. And how could I live then?_ No. He spun around and began pacing again. No. He would not tell her. He would keep her with him – just for a little while longer. Someday, soon, he would tell her. But not now... Not just yet...


	16. Encounter with Eredolyn

_**MuseQuest Chapter 16: Encounter with Eredolyn-**_

_Being the tale of a redhead, an Elf, a bookworm, a Muse, a girl in disguise, an Orc, a Man, a Temperamental Blonde Girl, a Wizard... and Dilly, who does not yet have a shmancy title. And a host of miscellaneous others, for good measure._

* * *

"You used to throw rocks at your tutor's window?"  
Taras laughed. It came a bit easier and sounded a bit warmer than it would have only two weeks ago. "There was an art to it, you see. One could only do it at night when he was fast asleep. Nobody liked that old windbag. All he would teach us about was governmental edicts and such. He even hated his pupils. Later, once we'd out grown him, Maenadan would..." Taras trailed off abruptly.  
"And there we go again. Running into that brick wall where Taras stops talking."  
Taras didn't answer. Dilly sighed. "Look, I don't mean to sound rude. But maybe if you just tell me, you wouldn't feel so bad about it. Things like that aren't meant to be kept locked inside." She paused, feeling foolish. "At least, that's what my sociology teacher always said."  
"Sociology?"  
"The study of people's actions and the like." Dilly waited for Taras to answer. When he didn't, she continued: "I took that class and..."  
"He was my best friend."  
Dilly stopped at his quiet statement.  
_He was  
_"We used to do everything together. He liked my sister." Taras choked and Dilly realized that he was crying. Taras of Dol Amroth was crying! She didn't know what to say. Taras's face was twisted in a fierce fight for control.

Suddenly Dilly heard footsteps in the distance. The owners came quickly and stopped right in front of her cell door. Dilly looked up nervously. Why were they... Then the door opened and an enormous orc stepped in.  
"Holy Hannah!" Dilly exclaimed as she scrambled up and backed against the gritty wall. But what was she going to do against an orc this huge? There were more of them outside, too. Fear stabbed at her as she began to realize that she could not get away. She yelped and covered her head. But all the orc did was grab her arm roughly and shove her out the door.  
"Dilly!" Taras exclaimed from his cell door. He was standing and gripping the bars till his knuckles were white. "Dilly, wait!"  
"Get off me!" cried Dilly. "Taras!"  
Taras was wrenching frantically at his bars, face white. Then the two smaller orcs grabbed her and hauled her through the narrow hall, with the larger one stalking in front.  
_"Dilly!"

* * *

_

Tuima was pacing anxiously in her small cell. It was becoming a bad habit, but there was nothing else to do, and she was anxious about Eredolyn. Eicys had come by two days ago…Three? It was impossible to keep track of time in this pit to report that her attempts to contact Eredolyn after that first horrible day had all been useless. Orcs were not welcome in the upper levels, where Eredolyn was being kept in a luxurious stupor.  
The elf sighed in frustration and executed a sharp turn at the corner of her cell. Eicys should be here; they were supposed to be discussing escape plans. If only Eicys could locate Cebu's cell.  
Tuima stopped pacing abruptly when she heard loud footsteps in the distance. At last! But did Eicys really have to walk so heavily? Of course, due to Tuima's sharp hearing, it was a long while before the footsteps closed in on her cell door, and by then she was feeling nervous. "Eicys!" she hissed. "Why did you-"  
She stopped abruptly. It was not Eicys. It was a great hulking orc with slimy black hair. He brought out the key and opened her door with a jerk. Tuima backed up to the wall as he started in, steeling herself for whatever unpleasantries lay ahead. _I could fight him- He isn't _ that big , she thought desperately. And then two other, slightly smaller orcs decided to make their appearance at the edges of her door. _Ai, Elbereth, if only I had my knives!_ The largest one continued to advance.  
"Yer t" be taken t' see yer 'friend.' Gotta come quiet though, er else we won't be so nice t' the other one."  
Other one. It must be another of the- what did they call themselves? Emmies Immies?"  
Then it hit her. _Eredolyn!_ She was being taken to see Eredolyn! Tuima relaxed slightly, realizing that the orcs were an escort. She straightened imperiously, shook back her hair, and gestured to the door with icy sarcasm. "Shall we?" As they marched down the hall, Tuima hoped furiously that they couldn't see her shaking.

* * *

Dilly was fuming. Sure, she was nervous- okay, fine, she was terrified - but she was also feeling plain mad. She had finally gotten Taras to talk, and whaddaya know, along come these creeps and drag her away without a word of explanation. This had been happening way too often since she coming to Middle-earth, and Dilly was getting thoroughly sick of being dragged about, bruised, beaten, half-starved, and almost constantly frightened.  
_And yet, here we go again, _ she thought bitterly, and tried very hard not to wonder where they were taking her. Instead she concentrated on keeping her feet under her; the orcs were hauling her along so quickly and clumsily that her attempts to walk on her own were completely ignored, and she was relegated to being half-carried, half-dragged at a fast, awkward stumble.  
But when she was pulled up yet another flight of stairs, she couldn't suppress the fear that nagged at her mind: Was she being taken to see Saruman again? But why alone? Dilly shuddered at the thought of facing those cold black eyes, that beautiful, hypnotic voice, all by herself. She thought that if Saruman had focused his will on her as he had on Eredolyn, she probably would have started crying or babbling or something equally humiliating. At least Eredolyn had only gone flattered and vacant. But Dilly hadn't seen Eredolyn in almost two weeks " who knew what Saruman had managed to do in that time?  
Deep in unpleasant thoughts, Dilly almost fell down the stairs when someone called her name. She yelped and scrabbled to get her feet under her again; the orcs kept walking as though she wasn't there. "Tuima?" she asked when she had her balance.  
The elf nodded and pushed her hair away from her face. Dilly noted with resentment that Tuima's guards were standing to either side and behind, rather than gripping her arms. "Do you know what's going on?"  
"I think we're being taken to see Eredolyn," Tuima said.  
"Oh good ," Dilly said fervently. Then: "How come they told you ?"  
"Commanding presence?" Tuima suggested, looking sarcastically down at her grimy clothes. Dilly grinned cautiously. "And I don't think they feel quite comfortable with elves," Tuima added, smiling a truly poisonous smile at one of Dilly's guards. Dilly felt him shudder.  
She grinned a little wider.  
"One of these days I'm going to make you teach me how to do that."  
"What " oh, this?" Tuima's expression could have withered a balrog in its tracks. Dilly's left-hand guard stopped dead, and she was jerked awkwardly. "None o" that!" he snarled. "No more foolin' around, or you'll regret it!"  
Tuima only tossed her head; her long chestnut hair flared around her shoulders. But Dilly, looking closer, noticed with surprise that Tuima was shivering. Faint beads of sweat stood out on her hairline. The orcs were rather studiously avoiding her gaze and hadn't noticed that their intimidating captive had every appearance of barely holding her terror in check. Dilly was astonished, but a ripple of renewed fear surged across her stomach. Tuima was a person who practically radiated competence and experience. What did she know that Dilly didn't? Dilly couldn't think of any other reason for the elf to be so frightened.  
Finally the orcs ground to a stop in front of a pair of beautifully carved double doors. One of them pounded a fist on them, and a familiar voice floated out.  
"Come in," Eredolyn called.

* * *

"Fool!" Saruman hissed at his cowering servant. "I gave specific instructions to inform me before she was allowed visitors. And now she has two friends with her, alone, reeking of the dungeons, and no one there to check their speech to her? Void-cursed idiot!" A cold white hand shot out and seized the man's hair, pulling his face upward. The wizard spoke in tones of slow, freezing malice. "Go and take them back to their cells, and send the Lady Eredolyn to the library. Use every courtesy, but see to it that you make haste, for your death will be drawn out an hour for every minute I am kept waiting. Days of my precious time I have wasted already on that girl. Go!"  
The servant fled. Saruman, his voice cold with rage, stalked away toward the library, hissing to himself: "If I do not soon discover what I need from her, I shall have to turn to devices less subtle."

Behind a curtain, a small blue-eyed "goblin" shivered. She turned and hurried from the room, following the servant to her friends.  
It was not easy to keep up; he was practically sprinting down the corridor. Not that Eicys blamed him at all . She clattered some distance behind, hating her clumsy armor, and caught up just as the servant disappeared through a pair of ornate double doors.  
She narrowly avoided being squashed flat as the doors were thrown open again immediately with a resounding bang . Eredolyn strode out, looking furious and almost tearful. The servant bobbed at her heels, his expression slack with relief.  
"Here, you," he hissed at Eicys, so that Eredolyn couldn't hear. "See to it that those two are returned to their cells." Eicys was only too happy to obey. Or rather, not. She pushed through the doors and was very nearly brained by a candlestick-turned-deadly-projectile. She yelped as it nicked her helmet with a grating clang .

"You horrible, stuck up, traitorous scu- Eicys?" Tuima halted mid-rant and, trembling, set down a second candlestick that she had been poised to throw. Eicys lowered her arms cautiously.  
"Eicys?" Dilly repeated, bewildered. "That's not?" She peered closer. "Eicys!"  
"Hey guys!" Eicys replied very brightly for someone who had just escaped a concussion. Living in constant danger among the most brutal species on the planet for several weeks can do that to a person. "What happened?"  
Tuima's grip tightened around the candlestick, and Dilly and Eicys both flinched. "Eredolyn happened," she gritted.  
"Wha-?" Eicys said, her brows furrowing. She turned to Dilly for a more rational answer, but Dilly was not looking very rational at the moment. She looked a lot like Eredolyn had: on the verge of furious tears. But she also had a lost, rather shell-shocked expression, as though waiting for some horrible surprise to finish sinking in. "What happened?" Eicys asked again, getting nervous.  
"She - she was - it was horrible!" Dilly exploded. "It was like talking to a mannequin or a robot or something. A robot with a really, really nasty attitude problem." She dashed tears out of her eyes with an impatient hand. "Eredolyn was all dressed up - silk and velvet and gold - and she went on for probably ten minutes on how much she was learning from Saruman. She didn't even notice we were there, hardly. That's not like Eredolyn at all! She had this horrible vacant smile- or she did right up until we tried to talk to her about the dungeons, and escaping. Then she- Well, we all got really mad."  
"No," interrupted Tuima. "I got really mad. I can't stand intentional stupidity." She stared at her shaking fist, still clenched around the candlestick. "Dilly was still rather shocked, but when Eredolyn started going off about us being jealous ?" The elf trailed off.  
"Then we all got mad," Dilly finished. "How could she be so- so blind?" She clenched her teeth. "I don't know what's happened to her. She was absolutely horrible! Stuck-up, selfish, arrogant, condescending, empty-headed jerk !" Dilly angrily shoved a few threatening tears from her eyes, looking like she, too, would like something heavy to throw.  
Eicys was completely taken aback. She had never seen Dilly cry. And she could hardly believe Eredolyn could act like that! All of Eicys" experiences with Eredolyn had been with a funny, friendly, and enthusiastic bookworm. The only thing left of that, apparently, was the worm. She cast around for something to say. "Um, well, maybe she'll come around after the escape or something. You know, if she's not around Saruman any more."  
"What escape?" snuffled Dilly. "How are we supposed to get out of this place?" She kicked an elegant little table, crunching one leg so that it toppled to the floor. She looked surprised and guilty, then kicked it again. _Crunch_ . "We'll be stuck here for years" –_crunch _- "and years, like Taras!" _Splinter_ . "And Eredolyn will sit up here in her fancy dresses, reading books and chatting merrily with evil villains!" _Snap._

_  
_Tuima looked impressed. Eicys glanced around apprehensively. "Dilly, stop that! I have a plan."  
Dilly stopped, turning a tear-streaked face to her friend. Tuima let go of the candlestick. "A plan?"  
"Eredolyn's not the only one who can read." Eicys tugged at something beneath her armor, tugged again, then turned red. "Uh, can you two turn around?"  
A smile tugged at the corner of Tuima's mouth as the two Immies obliged. There was a clatter, some grumbling, and an "oof ."  
"Here!" said Eicys in a muffled voice. She had a small volume clenched between her teeth and was trying to re-fasten a buckle. When it finally clicked into place, she dropped the book gingerly into her hands. "Stupid armor," she muttered sourly. Dilly smiled, and suddenly Eicys didn't feel so bad. If she had to make an idiot of herself, at least she could cheer up a friend in the meantime.  
"Here," she said excitedly, and flipped to a drawing of a plant.  
Tuima recognized the heart-shaped leaves. "Hops?"  
"Is that what its called" It doesn't say, it just said it helps with sleep. And here- " Eicys flipped to another page - "This one does, too, except I can't read the first bit with the funny writing?"  
"That's valerian," Tuima told her. "It's wonderful for healing, except it smells terrible."  
"Oh," said Eicys, feeling very much as though her thunder was being stolen.  
"Like old cheese," Tuima said helpfully.  
"Oh," Eicys said again.  
"Is there a reason you're researching herbs?"  
"Er, I thought that- well, maybe I could make up a, a sleeping drought for Saruman or, um?" Somehow it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.  
But Tuima's face brightened. "That's wonderful! Is there a place you can get them around here?"  
"Yeah, Saruman's got a big herb garden, for all the potions, you know" just like in Coralie's story!" Eicys was feeling excited again.  
"Praise Elbereth," Tuima said. She felt as though an enormous strain in her chest had just been released: at last, at last, she could do something! "Do you think you could smuggle them down to the cells?"  
"What for?" Eicys asked. Tuima's smile froze in confusion, and Eicys suddenly understood. "Oh - um, I mean," she said, now feeling as though Tuima had stolen the whole stupid storm instead of just the thunder. But she knew Tuima well enough by now to realize that the elf was probably going insane down there and she definitely knew a lot more than Eicys did about herbs. She sighed. "Yeah, I could probably get you a few. And something to grind them with?"  
Tuima beamed, and Eicys sighed again. She'd pictured herself as a hero, ingeniously rescuing her friends like Bilbo with the dwarves. But maybe in real life, daring escapes didn't happen single-handedly. Hmph.

At least there was one thing left to show them, though. "Hey look, guys " I'd better get you back to your cells soon before someone gets suspicious. But I wanted to show you?" She pulled a page from the back of the herb book where she'd stowed it. "It's a map," Eicys said proudly. "See, here's Tuima's cell, and here's Dilly's. And this one here belongs to that temperamental blonde girl that was with you earlier."  
"Wha- "  
"Oh, Wlore."  
Eicys nodded solemnly. "I've tried to talk to her, but she comes up with some " uh, creative language whenever she sees an orc near her cell. So it might be up to you guys during the escape."  
"Oh, and here" " Eicys pointed to another spot on the map " "This is a store room that's not used too much by the orcs. I've been stealing stuff for us to take when we escape " and Tuima, I found your knives!"  
"You did?" Tuima cried. "Eicys, you are wonderful!"  
"I try," Eicys grinned.  
"Are there any other weapons in there?" Dilly asked. Her voice was still thick from emotion, but she sounded eager.  
"Not really, but I could get some."  
"I think Taras will want a sword."  
"That's the second time you've mentioned ?" Eicys froze as Tuima lunged at her. "Hey " stop " ow!"

Tuima's hands closed around her throat and mouth: "Sshh!" the elf hissed wildly, as the door burst open to reveal five hulking uruks. Dilly hastily shoved the map into her pocket; the herb book tumbled to the floor.  
"There they are!" one of the orcs snarled, and crashed across the room. His blow lifted Tuima away from Eicys and sent her sprawling to the floor. He ignored the elf completely and turned to Eicys. "Idjit. Let "er jump yew, did ye" I thought yew were s'posed to be bringin' "em down."  
"What, by m'self?" Eicys grated, thinking quickly. Dilly jumped at the new harsh quality of her voice.  
"None o" yer lip," the uruk said, and gave Eicys an absent shove. She staggered several steps and fell, her armor clattering. "Useless snaga," the uruk muttered as he grabbed for Dilly. Dilly stomped hard on his instep.  
The uruk howled and hopped up and down, to raucous laughter from his companions. "I've abou' had enough of yew," the brute snarled, shaking Dilly so that her long hair swung wildly around her waist.  
"Leave her alone!" Tuima snapped from the floor. A dark bruise was already growing across her cheekbone.  
"And yew," said the uruk. He seized her by one arm and flung her into the waiting arms of his fellows. "C'mon then," he said, and the two Immies were hauled from the room. Eicys pulled herself to her feet and soberly watched them go.


	17. Waiting

_**Muse Quest Chapter 17: Waiting**_

_Plotting abounds among the Immies and their friends... _

_

* * *

_

When Taras finally heard the footsteps coming back, it was all he could do to stop himself trying to break the door down again. The backs of his fists were still bleeding from his earlier attack on it, when they had dragged Dilly away to… He had no idea; that was the worst part. He craned his neck, peering down the corridor, and felt limp with relief: she was walking, she couldn't have been hurt… _Please, Valar, don't let her be…_  
He gripped the bars of the little window set in his door, and watched anxiously as Dilly was hauled roughly down the corridor. Upon reaching her cell, the biggest orc unlocked the door, pulled it wide, and kicked Dilly inside. Taras snarled curses inwardly and gripped his bars even tighter, holding himself in until the orcs had disappeared around a corner.  
"Dilly! Dilly, are you all right?" She didn't answer. "Are you hurt? Did they…" He trailed off, but she was still silent. Taras swallowed urgently. "Dilly!"  
"I'm fine , Taras."  
"You're sure?"  
"I said I'm fine."  
Taras stopped, startled. Dilly had never acted like this before. "What happened?"  
"Nothing."  
He realized his mouth was open and shut it. "But…"  
"Look, I'm sorry, but I really don't feel like talking right now, okay? Sorry…"  
"Um," Taras said. "All… all right." He ran a hand through his hair. What must have happened? He started pacing, stopped himself, stood helplessly for a long, long, moment, then kicked his door violently. He glared at it for a minute, then kicked it again.  
There was an awkward, painful silence.  
"…What was that?" asked Dilly.  
"Er, nothing," said Taras. After another silence, he said – mainly for the sake of saying something – "Kicked my door, is all."  
"Did it make you feel better?" Dilly asked. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.  
"Well… er, sort of." He hesitated. "No."  
Dilly sighed a little, and then Taras didn't hear from her again for almost an hour.

* * *

Ungrath was feeling thoroughly confused, and a little put-upon. "Why'm I doin' this again?" he asked, scowling at Eicys.  
Three weeks ago, the sight of that hideous face glaring at her would have sent Eicys scurrying for the nearest thing to hide behind. Now, though, she only grinned up at him and teased: "What's the matter? Are you scared they might make you smell decent?"  
"We ain't s'posed teh be here," Ungrath said, glancing nervously around Saruman's herb garden. The sharp scents seared the back of his throat, dragging up unpleasant memories of a dark room, a bitter taste, pain… "I don' like this place," he growled.  
"Well I think it's wonderful to see growing things again," said Eicys, clipping a few leaves from a low shrub. "It's so – friendly."  
"These plants ain't friendly," Ungrath spat.  
Eicys paused, glancing around. "They do seem kinda… unpleasant, don't they?"  
Ungrath folded his massive arms. "Ken we go, then?"  
"Just a minute. The book said there's one with long spiky leaves and yellow flowers…"  
"What're yeh plannin' on doin' with this stuff, anyway?" he asked. Eicys glanced around nervously, then got on tiptoe and whispered in his ear.  
Ungrath jerked away. "Yer doin' what? " he cried.  
"Sshh!" Eicys hissed. "I have to, so I can break my friends out of the dungeon."  
"Oh, righ', just break yer friends outta the dungeon. An' then ye'll simply waltz outta Orthanc under the noses of several hundred orcs, an' hope that Sharkey don' wake up too soon." He ran a claw through his matted black hair. "Yeh got a death wish or somethin', Eicys?"  
"No," she said stiffly. "We do have a plan, you know."  
"What kinda plan yeh got that yeh think'll outsmart Sharkey?"  
"You know… something really simple. Like… um… Me and you will just pretend we're taking them somewhere, under guard you know, and march them out. Or… we could pretend they're dead and we're taking them out to bury them."  
"We don' bury pris'ners."  
"Then what do you –" Scenes from The Two Towers about orc eating habits flashed through Eicys' mind. "Oh," she said, feeling nauseous. "Ugh."  
"You don' have a plan at all, do yeh?"  
Eicys wilted slightly. "No," she admitted in a small voice. Then she drew herself up. "But I'll think of something. And the potion is a good idea, don't you think?"  
"I bet it won' work on wizards. I think it'll jest make 'im mad."  
"That's a morbid thought," she commented.  
Ungrath smiled faintly. "Hark at yeh callin' me morbid when yer gatherin' poison."  
"Poison?" Eicys looked down at the herbs in her hands. "These are for a sleeping draught." At Ungrath's confused expression, she clarified: "For Saruman, remember?"  
"Yer not gonna kill 'im?"  
"Of course not!" Eicys shuddered.  
"Why not?" Ungrath snarled. "He deserves it."  
"Yeah, but – but – I couldn't kill anyone…" Eicys trailed off, remembering the horrible struggle for her life in Fangorn. "In cold blood," she finished, and shuddered again.  
Ungrath bit a thin black lip and stared down at his claws. If she knew…  
_But that wasn' my fault!_ he thought desperately._ Saruman…  
Yeh think that matters teh people like that? _a harsh thought returned. _Yer an orc. Yer a murderer. Learn to live wi' it. _  
"No," Ungrath muttered fiercely.  
"Glad you agree," Eicys said in relieved tones. Ungrath jerked his eyes to hers guiltily, nodded, and stared at his claws again, hating himself. He wished he could get away from the smell of herbs. 

After a long while, Eicys looked up at Ungrath. He had been so quiet that she was beginning to worry. He had opened up so much in the last week or so, but now he seemed angry, or nervous. It was hard to tell with orcs.  
At last, she ventured, "Um – Ungrath? You okay?" He nodded distractedly. "Oh. Um…" She stuffed the last of the herbs into a sack she'd brought. When she looked at him again, his weird brown eyes were still distant and agitated. She straightened and put her hands on her hips. "No, you're not," she snapped.  
He jumped, then glared at her. Eicys ignored it. "What's wrong?" she asked.  
Ungrath would have stared at the ground, but Eicys was in the way. "Nothin'," he said, examining the ceiling.  
"Don't give me that," Eicys scolded. "Something's been eating at you for almost half an hour. What's wrong?"  
"Ken we get outta here?" he pled.  
She looked at him, puzzled, then jerked her head toward the entrance. "Is that all?"  
"Um," he said. "Yes."  
"You know what? You are a really rotten liar," Eicys commented as they left. "Now, what else?"  
"Nothin'," he said shortly, and Eicys looked suspicious but left him alone. Ungrath silently sighed his relief. What was he supposed to say _– 'I don't want you to go, stay here with me?'_ Stupid, stupid, stupid . He curled his big hands into fists and strode ahead.  
"Where are you going?" Eicys asked, almost running to keep up.  
"I have… guard duty," he growled, and banged through the door at the end of the hallway, leaving Eicys to stare after him, worried and confused.

* * *

Dilly broke the silence first. "Um, Taras?" she said in a low, embarrassed mutter.  
"Yes?" he said quickly.  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't worry about it," he said, relieved. "But… Dilly, please tell me what happened."  
She sighed. "'Eredolyn happened,' as Tuima put it."  
"Who? Oh, your friends."  
"Maybe," she said bitterly. "I don't think Eredolyn wants any friends. Just books. And Saruman."  
Taras moved closer to the bars. "Saruman?"  
Dilly sighed. "He's gotten to her somehow. It was awful!"  
"What happened?" Taras asked again.  
Dilly told him. Taras listened in sober silence. "What can I do?" she asked, frustration plain in her voice.  
"Not much," he said sadly. Dilly sighed again, and Taras groped around for something to say to take her mind off Eredolyn. But for some stupid reason the only thing he could think of was the information about her loose bars. The old debate resurfaced in his mind: Would Dilly try if he told her? If she was killed…  
_I ought to tell her_ , he thought. _I owe her that much.  
_The silence grew more and more awkward and miserable. Taras took a deep breath. _Just tell her_! He swallowed, took another breath, and opened his mouth.  
"Hey, Taras," she said awkwardly, and he jumped. She continued in a would-be cheerful voice, obviously trying to patch up the painful silence: "Do you have any more of those stories about your old tutor? I think we could both use a laugh."  
"Oh – um, of course," he said, caught off balance. A weird mixture of guilt and relief washed over him, but he pushed it aside and began. "Er… Let's see. Oh. Well, there was a day when I was about thirteen…"

* * *

"Psst – Tuima!"  
"Hello, Eicys," said Tuima without turning around. She had her long fingers jammed into a crack in the wall, and was straining to pry one of the stones loose. "Wait a moment…" She set one foot against the wall and tugged. "Come out, come out… Ha!"  
The stone pulled free and clattered to the floor. Tuima turned around, flexing her fingers and wincing, to see Eicys stuffing a little sack through the bars of her cell door. "You found the herbs, then?" she said eagerly.  
"Yup," said Eicys. "Hope this is enough."  
Tuima pulled the bag of herbs the rest of the way through. "Mmm," she said, breahing deeply of the sharp, wild scent. Suddenly she choked, then held the bag out at arm's length. "Ouch," she said weakly.  
"What's wrong?" Eicys asked. "Are they the right ones?"  
"Yes, but – ai! These are strong , and very…"  
"Unpleasant?" said Eicys. "I didn't like them either. They seemed to – watch me, while I was picking."  
"Hostile," the elf agreed. She wrinkled her nose. "Well, best we can do. Thank you, Eicys. You've done so much."  
Eicys shrugged unhappily. "But I still can't find my sister. And I didn't get to Eredolyn in time…" _And I made Ungrath upset about something,_ she didn't add.  
Tuima's face tightened. "Hopefully we can all escape before Curunir gets anything significant out of her." The two girls shared a somber moment.  
"Maybe we should try again," Eicys said. "You know, maybe if she had something to think about besides Saruman and her books…"  
"Perhaps," Tuima said thoughtfully. "But I don't think she'll call for us again." She colored faintly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that…"  
"Not your fault," Eicys reassured her. "It sounds like she was pretty aggravating."  
Tuima colored deeper, but with anger this time. "She said we were just jealous! And ignorant, and selfish, and –"  
"Tuima!" Eicys scolded.  
Tuima looked at the floor, blushing to the tips of her ears. Literally.  
_That's a new one_, Eicys thought. "Listen," she said. "I'll see what I can do…maybe I could smuggle Dilly up to see her again. They were best friends back home."  
Tuima nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea," she said eagerly. Then her sense of Aloof Responsible Elf seemed to kick back in, and she said sternly, "But be careful."  
Eicys crammed her helmet further over eyes and gave her friend a smile that was pure Ungrath. Tuima shuddered appreciatively. And that, Eicys reflected, did not say much for Ungrath's chances when she finally got around to introducing him.

* * *

After an hour or so of conversation, Taras and Dilly were feeling almost normal again. Taras had even gotten a laugh out of his companion with his story about his and Lothiriel's botched attempt to sabotage their lessons.  
"Ink is very stubborn," Taras protested. "Lothiriel honestly thought it would never come out. Our clothes were ruined, of course, and our hair…" he made a face. "Lothiriel left black smudges everywhere she went for a week. I just cut mine off – but I was sad to lose it. It was almost as long as my father's." He considered. "Though not so long as it is now."  
"Vanity, Taras?" Dilly asked.  
"No," he said, pretending to be affronted. "I don't have anything to cut it."  
"Of course," Dilly agreed with good-natured sarcasm. "Then how do you keep your beard so short?"  
"Oh, sure, rub it in," Taras said. It was a phrase he'd learned from Dilly.  
"Rub what in?" she asked.  
"The fact that I can't grow a decent beard even after three years without a razor."  
Dilly smiled. "You do have a beard. It's just a little… straggly."  
"Straggly?" Taras demanded in outraged tones. He fought down the grin that quirked the edges of his mouth. "Straggly?"  
Dilly laughed. Taras beamed at the sound. Determined to get another laugh out of her, he stroked his chin pompously and said, "By the standards of Dol Amroth this so-called 'straggly' beard could rival any old patriarch's."  
"Don't they have beards in Gondor?"  
"They say," Taras said thoughtfully, "that the men of Dol Amroth have Elven blood."  
"What's that got to do with beards?" Dilly asked.  
"When did you last see a bearded Elf?"  
Dilly laughed delightedly, then pretended to consider. "Well, since the only Elf I've ever seen is Tuima…" She laughed even harder at the mental image, but Taras stopped, wary.  
"Your friend Tuima is an Elf?" "Yeah… why?"  
"There are all sorts of stories about the Firstborn… enchantments, snares… They seem fair, but they cannot be trusted." Taras scowled deeply.  
Dilly hesitated. "You don't warm up to people very quickly, do you?"  
"I've learned my lesson," he said shortly. "You shouldn't trust just anyone."  
"Does this have anything to do with… with your friend?"  
"Maenadan?" Taras spat the name so bitterly that Dilly almost flinched. "I would sooner call an orc my friend than that traitor."  
"But what happened?"  
He shrugged and turned away.  
"You were going to tell me earlier!" Dilly said. "You can't let it keep eating at you like this." Then, seeing him still hesitate, she said carefully, "Please, Taras. Trust me."  
Taras stiffened. On second thought, Dilly realized, that might not have been the best choice of words. But the Gondorian stood up straight, staring into space for a moment, and at last he said, "I told you he was my friend. I never had many; it was mostly my sister – Lothiriel – that I confided in. But I loved Maenadan like a brother." His voice deepened with disgust and fury. "Until the night he handed me over to the orcs."  
And slowly, painfully, the whole tale came out: Maenadan's worming his way into the family, his mysterious disappearance that night in Rohan, the orc attack… 

"They were everywhere," Taras said, "and none of us were prepared. The horses were almost crazy; they ran off right away. We all fought like mad, even Lothiriel, and Eomer was scything down dozens of the things until he had his leg sliced open and went down, with Lothiriel guarding him. The orcs came between us, and I didn't think about that either… I was just glad they seemed to be coming after me instead of my sister. I took off running, and the whole pack of them followed me. I think Lothiriel tried to follow too, but Eomer was holding her back and yelling that it wouldn't do any good for her to get killed as well. Everything was dark and screaming and blood: I don't remember much.  
"And then one of them caught me in the side" – he traced the long scar with one finger – "and I went down. It was about to kill me when _he_ showed up. He told them to stay back, and I realized… what he'd done…" Taras took a shuddering breath. "He gave me the most awful smile, gloating about who was my father's favorite now, and how he was going to inherit everything, and how – how my sister – he would –" Taras choked. "Well. I think I lost it then. I started hacking orcs apart left and right, just trying to get to him, but I never even touched him. I woke up in this pit," he waved bitterly, "and I've been rotting here ever since. Maenadan needed me alive, to blackmail Lothiriel, and this was the only place – but Saruman doesn't give favors for free. Maenadan convinced him that I could be used as a sort of insurance, if the war went ill…" He trailed off, lost in black thoughts.  
Dilly's eyes were wide as she tried to think of something, anything, to say. "Oh, wow…" she said at last, in a very small voice.  
Taras realized his nails were biting into his palm, and slowly unclenched his fists. He hadn't meant to say so much, but it was a relief to have finally told someone. His breathing was ragged and harsh in the silence. After a long moment, he gulped down tears and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want – I –" He scrubbed furiously at his face with one fist. "Sorry," he said again, lamely.  
Dilly reached through her bars, uselessly. Her arm withdrew and she let out a long breath. "Oh, Taras," she said. "I'm so sorry."  
Taras tried a laugh: it came out strangled and short. "It's all right," he said. "I try not to think about it. There's nothing I can do, anyway."  
The two of them fell into a miserable quiet, until Dilly said fiercely, "Yes, there is."  
He looked up, startled.  
"We're getting out of here, Taras. I don't care what it takes; we're going to get out of this place. Eicys and Tuima are already working on a potion to put Saruman out of it for a while, and Eicys says she's been hiding supplies, and weapons. Any day now, we'll get our chance, and we are going to escape, Taras, no matter what!"

* * *

_Hello wonderful readers, a quick note from the authors, Thank you for staying with us and commenting. You are helping us along quite beautifully! We hope that you're really getting into the mood of the story! Stay tuned for the next chapter where _  
_Humor, angst, and various unpleasantries abound at the expense of the poor Immies and their friends..._


	18. Careful Conversations

**_Muse Quest  
_****_Chapter 18: Careful Conversations_**

_Muse Quest was written by Tuima, Cebu, Eredolyn, Dilly, Eicys, Wlore, Linsul, Elfie the Green, and I think that's everyone so far. We did not create Tolkien's characters therefore we do not own them, but are merely borrowing them for a while to complete our task. Lady Coralie owns her own characters which are mentioned briefly.  
We the Immies do NOT give permission for anyone to use our characters or likeness unless emailed and asked nicely. Thank you that is all. Now please read and let us know what you think.

* * *

_

"We're getting out of here, Taras. I don't care what it takes; we're going to get out of this place. Eicys and Tuima are already working on a potion to put Saruman out of it for a while, and Eicys says she's been hiding supplies, and weapons. Any day now, we will get our chance, and we _are_ going to escape, Taras, no matter what!"  
Taras stared at Dilly, astonished. Questions pounded through his brain. Finally he settled on an easy one: "Who's Eicys?"  
"Someone say my name?"  
"Eicys!" Dilly cried. "What are you doing here?"  
"Your friend is an orc?" Taras demanded, horrified.  
Eicys froze. "Who are you?" she asked, at the same time Dilly blurted, "Of course not!" She sounded indignant and disgusted. Eicys winced a little, thinking of Ungrath.  
"She looks like an orc," Taras said stubbornly.  
"Dilly, who is this?"  
"Well, she isn't. Eicys, this is Taras of Dol Amroth. Taras, this is my friend Eicys. And you can both stop glaring at each other now."  
"You're not an orc?" Taras asked warily.  
Eicys, irritated, yanked off her helmet. Dirty blonde hair flopped around her shoulders. "Satisfied?"  
Taras started. "Ah- I beg your pardon," he said politely. "Pleased to meet you, Eicys."  
Eicys hesitated, and peered through the bars into the gloom of Taras' cell. The man who looked back at her was pale and haggard, with his long dark hair tangled around his face but he was still definitely the most attractive guy Eicys had ever seen. That might, of course, be due to the fact that she had been surrounded by orcs for the past three weeks - but she doubted it. This guy was really, really hot.  
"Pleased to meet you too," Eicys said, grinning foolishly, and decided to leave her helmet off for a while longer. "Is he going to be escaping with us?" she asked Dilly.  
"Yes," said Dilly emphatically.  
"Great!" She looked up and blushed. "Um, I mean, we could use someone else who knows how to fight. Um." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Dilly" Tuima and I were talking, and we think it would be a good idea if you could see Eredolyn again. You know her best out of any of us, and I mean we can't just leave without her, so we have to figure out a way to persuade her-"  
Taras looked astonished. "You're still going to try to rescue this Eredolyn?"  
Dilly and Eicys looked at him sideways. "We can't just leave her," Dilly said, echoing Eicys. Taras frowned, and Dilly found herself looking for reasons to defend Eredolyn. "She's held up really well against him so far, actually. I mean, she said last time she hadn't told him about the Ring. She seemed really offended, actually." Dilly abruptly realized what she'd said. "Uh, I mean- forget I said that!"  
"What Ring?"  
Dilly and Eicys exchanged nervous glances. "I'll tell you after we escape," Dilly said reluctantly. Taras gave her a wary look. "I promise," Dilly protested. "But right now, I'm going with Eicys to see Eredolyn."  
"Really?" said Eicys, clearly relieved. "Great!" She fumbled with a ring of keys.  
"Where did you get those?" Taras asked sharply.  
"Well, they gave them to me the first day, so I could feed the prisoners. Then the assignments changed, and I work in the mess hall for a couple hours a day now. But I - ah, forgot to return the keys." She grinned and fitted a key into Dilly's lock.  
"Why don't you just let us all out now?" Taras asked suspiciously.  
"Because," Eicys answered shortly. "We aren't ready to escape yet. I've made enough trouble stealing food and supplies, and sneaking around the dungeons in all my spare time. I don't want to make anyone else suspicious." She swung the door wide, and Dilly stepped out happily. Eicys pulled her helmet on again. She turned to Taras. "If anyone asks, Lady Eredolyn sent for her friend, okay?"  
Taras nodded, then asked, "Are you from Dilly's world, too?"  
Eicys looked surprised. "Why do you ask?"  
"That word. "Oh-Kay." Dilly's the only one I know who uses it."  
"Oh. Yeah, I am actually." She tucked her hair under her helmet and shut the cell door again. "Coming, Dilly?"  
"Yeah," said Dilly. She was standing close to Taras" cell door, looking in. "So that's what you look like," she murmured, half to herself. She smiled at him. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Taras nodded unhappily. "Goodbye, Taras," she whispered.  
"Goodbye," he said, and pushed a hand through his bars. Dilly clasped it; it was like a good-luck sign. "Take care of yourself, Dilly," he said.  
She just smiled again, squeezed his hand, and followed Eicys down the corridor and out of sight.

* * *

"Eicys, you don't have to grab my arm so hard ," Dilly whispered as they made their way cautiously through the halls of Orthanc. "Those gauntlet things you wear are no joke."  
"Sorry," Eicys whispered back, trying to relax her grip. She was so nervous she thought it was a miracle that her armor didn't rattle with the shaking. "It's just " this doesn't look very plausible, you know" We're the same size, and-"  
"What's going on here?"  
Eicys felt her heart plummet sickeningly towards her toes. At the same time, paradoxically, it seemed to be trying to fight its way out of her chest via her throat. She turned slowly.  
"Uh- I'm just- I mean, I'm jes' takin' this "ere," she shook Dilly's arm, "teh see 'er friend. Saru- Sharkey's pris'ner. Ered'lin or whoever." She felt a prickle of sweat beneath her disguising layer of paint and mud. "Yeah," she said hoarsely.  
Saruman's servant eyed her suspiciously. He wore expensive-looking robes and an expression that suggested Eicys had just been found adhering to the sole of his shoe. _Just my luck, I get one of the higher-ups_ , Eicys thought.  
"I had not heard that the Lady Eredolyn ordered an audience with one of those people," he said.  
Dilly bristled and seemed about to say something, but Eicys kicked her ankle- forgetting her metal-shod boots. Dilly gasped. The servant stared.  
"Er, well, yeah," said Eicys desperately. "She - she forgot to say something – somethin - teh one of "em. I heard. Er." _And to think I said _Ungrath was a rotten liar .  
"And why is it only you escorting the prisoner?"  
"Er?" Eicys gasped. A bead of sweat slid from under her helmet. Panicking, she felt it clinging to a few strands of blonde hair that had escaped from their tie. Her mind blanked. "I – uh-"  
She heard heavy footsteps behind her. "I'm not!" she said, staking everything. "He's helping me!" She pointed wildly over her shoulder.  
And there was Ungrath, towering over everyone and idly swinging his enormous scimitar. Relief rose off Eicys like steam. "What's th' problem?" Ungrath asked, glowering.  
The servant backed up a step. "Nothing," he snapped. He seemed to be considering, but having a huge orc looming in the foreground is difficult for consideration. "Very well," he said nastily. "I will accompany you. The master will want to hear what is said between these two - friends." Dilly glared. The servant turned and swept down the corridor ahead of them.  
Eicys finally released her death grip on Dilly's arm and turned her eyes to Ungrath. "Thank you thank you thank you," she muttered fervently, so that only he could hear. She shoved the telltale wisps of hair back beneath her helmet.  
"Yeh need a lot o' lookin' after, Eicys," he commented without looking down.  
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou?" She took a deep breath and her stupid armor finally stopped rattling.  
"Here we are," the servant announced, positioning himself in front of Eredolyn's doors. But before he raised a hand to knock, he gave a steady glare towards Dilly. "You know the rules," he said. "If you say anything to Lady Eredolyn that Master Saruman would deem unpleasant, your friends in the dungeons will pay the price."  
Dilly gulped, but remained firm.  
"I will be watching you, so choose your words wisely," the servant finished, and, raising a fist, knocked smartly on the decorated doors.  
"Come in," called Eredolyn. The servant flung the door wide and Eicys marched Dilly through. Ungrath hung back.  
"I'll talk to you later," Eicys hissed at him. "Thank you!" He grinned a little and shut the door.

* * *

"Who is it?" Eredolyn asked, looking up. She was seated in a tall armchair, a book spread open on her lap. "Dilly?" Her tone was annoyed. "What are you doing here?"  
From the corner of her eye Dilly saw the servant take his position in the shadows, watching the two girls intently. "Uh, remember, you sent for me ?" Dilly said.  
"No, I d- " Eredolyn caught sight of Dilly's frantic expression. She peered behind her friend and noticed that the goblin escorting her wore an identical one. "Oh," she said. "Hey, is that Ei-"  
"No," said Dilly quickly.  
"Yes, it " "  
"Eredolyn! No, it isn't!"  
"Sheesh. Bossy." Eredolyn frowned. "You were really bossy last time, too, you know. And Tuima was worse." Her frown deepened. "Why is everyone so irritable lately?"  
"Lady Eredolyn," the servant said smoothly, stepping forward. "If you like, I would be happy to remove this- person."  
"I think I would like her to apologize," Eredolyn said. Her hazel eyes glittered.  
"What?" Dilly cried. The servant frowned. "I mean, sorry," she said sourly.  
"Good," said Eredolyn, still glassy-eyed. "Now Dilly, what was it you wanted to see me for?"  
"No - Eredolyn! Um, remember you asked me to come and-and remind you of something?"  
"Did I?" Eredolyn said vaguely. "What would you remind me of" I have all these books here to search through, if I want to know something. And Saruman says I can ask him anything." Her voice was eerie, echoing, as though coming from far away. "Saruman said-" she murmured.  
Eicys shuddered.  
There was a pause. "I'm sorry, what did you want to say?" Eredolyn asked, with a shadow of her old self.  
Dilly hesitated, wracked with frustration. She wanted, no, _needed_ to pop the bubble of Saruman's glamour and reveal his deceit to her deluded friend. That's why she was here. But one ill word concerning the Wizard would mean a trip to the torture chamber for her friends.  
But an idea suddenly struck Dilly, and she cracked a grin. She and Eredolyn held one advantage above the eavesdropping servant they were from the modern world.  
"So, Eredolyn..." she started. "...The next episode of Star Wars is coming out."  
"...Er..." Eredolyn was puzzled.  
"This episode is going to be really good! It's when Anakin is tempted to join the **dark side** of the force, and that old, black-hooded evil dude looks really **wise and friendly** but he's** actually evil** and he's just tricking Anakin to** use him and get what he wants ** ."  
Eredolyn thought a moment. "Star Wars... that's the movie with the little green guy, right?"  
Dilly nearly reeled backwards. Was Eredolyn completely daft? How could she forget Star Wars! "Oookay," Dilly thought a moment. "What about 'Hook'?"  
"Hook?"  
"Yeah you know, that old remake of Peter Pan with Dustin Hoffman?"  
"Oh yes," Eredolyn nodded.  
Dilly sighed with relief. "Good. Now remember when Hook kidnapped Peter Pan's kid and convinced the kid he was** happier on the bad guy side** , and offered him all these **books and rich clothes** and in the end the kid **couldn't remember his real friends **?"   
Eredolyn was stunned. "...Peter Pan had a _kid_ ?"  
"It's from Hook! You said you remembered Hook!"  
"Yeah...but I thought it had Johnny Depp in it."  
"That's "Finding Neverland! What's the matter with you!"  
The servant moved from his position in the doorway. "My lady?" he intervened again. "Is this girl offending you?"  
Dilly and Eicys froze.  
"...No," Eredolyn said. "I'm just a little confused."  
"Then I hope your friend will speak clearly now and _to the point_ ."  
Dilly hastily nodded. But turning to Eredolyn she could see that her friend's memory of present times had turned to mush under Saruman's spell. It was a marvel Eredolyn even remembered her friends' names. "What has he done to you?" she muttered.  
"Sorry, what was that?" Eredolyn asked.  
"Ere," Dilly said desperately, "do you remember _The Lord of the Rings_ ?"  
"Of course!" Eredolyn laughed. "We're practically living in it! Isn't it great" Though I think Tolkien got a few things wrong. Saruman-"  
"What about Coralie?" Dilly hurried on, hoping to steer her friend away from thoughts of the wizard.  
"Oh yes, Coralie. She wrote fanfic, didn't she"? I don't think Saruman likes her very much. "  
"Okay, well, do you remember _us_ ? The Immies?"  
Eredolyn frowned. "Where did we get that silly name from, anyway?"  
"Remember?" Dilly pled. "The Lord of the Rings club, at school? Power to Nerds, dark green hoodies, lunchtime meetings? Remember? And we called ourselves the Immortal Four, after the Inklings, and we would stay up late watching the movies and eating E.L.Fudge cookies? And you taught the club the Elvish alphabet?"  
Eredolyn perked up. "Oh, Dilly, you'll never believe - Saruman has this book on languages, and it's just amazing how many?"  
Dilly positively wilted. This wasn't going anywhere. "What about _us_ ?" she demanded. "Your _friends_ ?"  
Eredolyn, looking irritated at being so rudely interrupted, huffed and pulled her book back towards her. "Some friends. You don't even care that this is the chance of a lifetime. This is what I've always wanted. And you just barge in and lecture me, and try to make me feel guilty. Well, I'm sick of it."  
Dilly opened her mouth, shocked. "Eredolyn - "  
"Oh, shut up," Eredolyn snapped. "Go away. I don't want to talk to you."  
The servant glided forward happily. "But Ere!" Dilly started again.  
"I _said_ , I don't want to talk to you. Ever. Now get out of here and don't come back." Eredolyn glared at her old friend as the servant ushered her out the door, then huffed again and went back to her book._ Some people._   
Eicys trailed behind, throwing indignant glares at Eredolyn, as Saruman's servant herded Dilly from the room. Once outside she moved to take Dilly's arm again, but the servant pushed her aside.  
"Stupid to trust a prisoner to a useless little snaga like you," he sneered. "Where's that big fellow?"  
He jumped. Ungrath was glowering only a few feet away. "Ah " Yes. Er?" He thrust Dilly into the uruk's arms. "Take this back to the dungeons." Ungrath looked down at the dark-haired girl, who had jerked away from him to stand staring at Eredolyn's closed doors, and moved to grip her shoulder.  
Dilly knocked his hand away. "Don't touch me," she snapped. "I can walk on my own." And she stalked away down the corridor, with Ungrath and Eicys close behind. The servant watched her narrowly, then turned in a flurry of robes to go find his master. He had a feeling that Saruman would want to hear of this. 


	19. Confrontations

_**Muse Quest  
**Chapter 19: Confrontations-  
_So It Begins...

_

* * *

_

Taras waited patiently for Dilly to come back.  
Okay, he didn't really; he paced madly and muttered to himself about wasting time coddling traitors. But at least he didn't try to knock the door down again.  
When he heard the footsteps, he caught his breath nervously. There were not two, but three coming down the corridor, and - he craned his neck to see better - the third was an uruk. Taras tensed. Had something gone wrong? But surely they would have sent more than one orc if there had been a problem... Then Taras stopped and re-examined this particular uruk, who was built along the lines of a mumak, and changed his mind. He shivered.

Dilly moved back to allow Eicys to unlock her cell door. But she didn't go in; instead she stopped, turned, and gave the uruk a very pointed Look. _Go away _ , it said. Taras stared in apprehensive admiration.  
The orc hesitated, a growl building in his massive chest. Oddly, he looked to Eicys, and even more oddly, she gave him a shrug and an apologetic glance before jerking her head toward the exit: a clear dismissal. The growl erupted briefly, but the orc clamped his fangs down around it and - oddest of all - turned away stiffly and stomped down the corridor and out of sight. Taras watched in suspicious silence until the uruk's footsteps had died away, then he turned quickly to Dilly. "What happened?"  
Dilly scowled. "It didn't work."  
"At all," Eicys put in.  
"Yes, thank you, Eicys," Dilly said shortly. She rubbed wearily at her eyes.  
"So we'll be leaving without her?" Taras said. He paused, surprised at himself: he didn't really believe for an instant that they would actually escape. He had been here too long. But it was a nice dream  
"No," Dilly snapped in answer. "We'll have to think of something else."  
"Like grabbing one of her precious books and beating her over the head?" Eicys growled. Her patience with Eredolyn was rubbed raw.  
Dilly sighed her frustration. "That wouldn't work. We have to get through to her somehow, break this stupid spell. Sheesh, that makes it sound like we're in a fairy tale or something. Actually, I bet that's what Eredolyn really thinks. If only she would listen to me!"  
"But she said she never wanted to see you again," Eicys pointed out.  
Dilly's face crumpled. "I know," she said in a small voice. Then she hurriedly pulled herself together again. "Well," she said. "I'll write her a letter."  
"Good idea," Eicys said. "And I can deliver it, and maybe have a talk with her in the meantime." She laid an interesting emphasis on 'talk'. "I'll go see if I can find stuff to write with." She locked Dilly's cell, gave her a reassuring smile, and scurried off to find paper and ink.

She kept an eye out for Ungrath, feeling an unpleasant prickle of worry and guilt, but managed to filch ink, quill, and a page from a valuable-looking old book without even a glimpse of him. Sighing, she tucked the writing materials under her armor and made her way back to the dungeons.

Dilly spent a long time on the letter, wondering what to say. She was tempted to write a really scorching tirade, but the more she sat thinking about her friend, vacant and glittering and alone in that room, the more she just felt sad. That person up there, that wasn't Eredolyn - it was just a shell. Dilly wanted her friend back. She remembered the two of them, plotting happily together in English class, facing off in fencing practice, fooling random people with their Irish accent impersonations. She sighed, and began to write.

Eicys was glad when Dilly finally folded her letter and handed it over. She was feeling very edgy: it was hard just loitering about and talking awkwardly with Taras when she was so worried about Ungrath and frustrated about Eredolyn and generally nervous about the look that had been on that servant's face after the interview.

She stuffed the parchment under her armor, and set off at a clattering trot for Eredolyn's rooms, hoping not to be caught again. Fortunately, this time luck was on her side, and the corridors were empty. She paused a moment in front of the ornately carved double doors, then shoved her way through.

* * *

Wlore paced feverishly in her tiny, dark cell, wrenching at bars and shoving at stones. She had never been in the dungeons for so long before, and she thought she might go mad before Saruman let her out again. If he ever did.  
She shoved that thought away, hard. Of _course_ she would be let out again. Wlore was full of the rather morbid practicality that came from life in a very dangerous world, and she knew that if the wizard did not intend to set her free to serve him again, he would simply have her killed. No point in keeping someone prisoner if there was no use for them.  
Of course, he could simply have forgotten.  
Wlore pushed that thought aside, as well. She knew perfectly well that she was not a person who was easy to forget, even by the standards of a very busy wizard. At least, she hoped not.  
She rattled her door in frustration. Why all these doubts? This was not like her at all.  
"Oy! Shut up in there, you!" shouted a passing orc.  
Wlore rattled her door harder.  
"I said shut up!"  
"I make it a point not to take orders from mumak droppings," Wlore said coolly, positively gleeful at the chance to vent a little steam. She kicked her door until dust fell from the ceiling.  
"What did yew call me?" the orc said, menacingly.  
"Maggot! Offal! Your father was the beetle that infested a warg's ugly snout, and he disowned you for shame!" Wlore was grinning hugely.  
"Tha's it!" the orc roared, and Wlore heard a jingling. A thrill of nervous excitement swept through her. He had keys!  
Her door banged open. The orc was only medium-sized, but heavily armed. He snarled at the prisoner: a thin girl in old rags, blonde hair tangled around a pale, dirty face. She was in a fighter's crouch, glaring ferociously but blinking in the light. She shifted, as though to attack, and the orc, taken by surprise, panicked. He hurled a long, thin dirk at her face; she dodged and leapt for him. He threw another of the same weapons, and it grazed her arm, slowing her long enough for him to slam the door shut, inches from her swinging fists.  
"Void-cursed crazy Strawhead," he spat, using the Dunlending term for the Rohirrim. "Tha'll teach yew."  
Inside her cell, Wlore picked up one of the blades, tested the tip, and smiled broadly. These would definitely come in handy.

* * *

Eredolyn was feeling distinctly ruffled. After speaking to her friends for the first time, she had stormed out in a rather inelegant fashion, hurt and furious. Fortunately, Saruman had been in the library to talk her out of her bad mood. But apparently, it wasn't really gone because the second time Dilly had showed up, Eredolyn had only been angrier with her friend.  
She felt vaguely guilty about that, but mostly just impatient and irritated. Why couldn't they see this was her dream, her fantasy, the thing she had always wanted! She ran her finger across a page of beautiful script, paused, and shut the book with a snap. This was what she'd always wanted. So why did it feel so hollow? She stood up and crossed to the bookshelf, just to hear the pleasurable rustle of her velvet dress. She was perfectly happy, of course she was. She was in Middle-earth! But when Dilly had looked at her like that-  
Eredolyn was happy to push the thought from her mind with the prospect of a good book - something really _intellectual _ , the sort of book Saruman would be impressed by. She scanned the bookshelf, occasionally tipping out a heavy tome to search its contents.  
_**BAM **_.  
Eredolyn yelped and whirled, her long skirts flaring elegantly. The book she was holding tumbled to the floor.  
There was an orc " No - No, it was Eicys. Eicys! "What are you doing here?" Eicys glared daggers. "I came one last time to try to convince you-"  
"Let me guess. You were going to try to convince me to see the error of my ways." She picked up the book in one hand and her skirts in the other, and swirled them out of her way to sit down in a tall armchair. "Well, it won't work." She opened the book at random and tried to be as condescending as possible without acknowledging the younger girl's presence. But it was impossible to concentrate. "Why are you staring at me?" she demanded eventually.  
"What color are my eyes?"  
_What? Why would she ask a question like that? Who cared if her eyes were blue?  
_"All right," said Eicys in a voice of frigid calm, "If you won't answer that question, what color are orcs" eyes?"  
"Yellow, red, black, I don't know," Eredolyn snapped, looking back down at her book.  
"Exactly. My eyes are not the same as orc eyes. It is only a matter of time before my disguise is seen through, and then Saruman will probably have me killed. I was almost caught just a few hours ago, trying to smuggle your best friend in to see you, so that you could blow her off for your precious books! Eredolyn, this isn't a game. We have to get out of here before something really bad happens."  
Eredolyn stood up fast, the book sliding from her velvet lap. "Get out." Eicys was several years younger than Eredolyn, and several inches shorter, but she glared up at her with eyes like frosted steel. "I'm not finished."  
Eredolyn laughed uneasily. "What, some heroic speech, trying to guilt me into forsaking this?" She gestured around her beautiful chambers. "This is something that doesn't happen twice. Why can't any of you grasp this? We're in Middle-earth! _Why_ would we want to leave? If you were smart enough to trust Saruman you wouldn't bother with all this idiocy. And you can go and tell the others I said so." She bent to pick up her book again.  
"Yes, Eredolyn, we_ are_ in Middle-earth. We are in the stronghold of one of the most evil people in it. And while you are lounging up here in your pretty dresses, cozying up to Saruman with your books, your _friends _ are rotting in the dungeons, wondering when the torturers are going to show up!"  
Eredolyn opened her mouth furiously, but Eicys plowed on, her voice rising. "You could probably do something to help them. And do you? NO! You laze here day after day, while your friends pace in their cells worrying about you! You see rose gardens, and eat wonderful food, while I struggle to find something to eat that isn't still wiggling! Every last one of us has spent our time here filthy and freezing and hungry, waiting for you to come to your senses and help us out." Eicys took a deep breath and spat out her next words like acid. "You, Eredolyn, are a despicable coward. You abandoned your friends to the dungeon so that you could stay up here and be trained as Saruman's pet dog!"  
SLAP!  
In the resounding silence that followed, a few flakes of black paint fell off of Eicys' face where Eredolyn had slapped her. Eicys nodded. "So long, _friend_ . I probably won't see you again." She turned away, then paused and reached beneath her armor. "Dilly sent this. She misses you, Eredolyn. She trusts you. Too bad I have to tell her she was wrong." She dropped the letter into Eredolyn's hand, then with a clink of armor turned and strode out of the room. Eredolyn stared after her a moment, then thrust the letter into a pocket and went back to her book. The door clanged shut behind Eicys, and Eredolyn was alone.

* * *

_Click._   
Wlore caught her breath. _It worked_! Very carefully, she extracted the slender dirk from her keyhole. Then, tingling with anticipation, she gave her door a push. It swung open, grating and squealing on its hinges. Wlore winced and slipped out quickly. She thrust both her new weapons into her belt and padded down the corridor.  
Now all she had to do was get out of Isengard. 


	20. Escape

Hello faithful friends! Yes, it is true-The Immies have returned! We appologize for the delay and hope that the next few weeks will make up for our absence! -We blame our evil professors who are bent on teaching us and filling our brains with other stuff! The nerve!  
Here's the recap just in case you've forgotten-Everyone is miserable except Eredolyn.

* * *

**_Muse Quest  
CHAPTER 20: Escape (It's About Time Too!)_**

Saruman's steward, one of the few human servants he still kept in Orthanc, fidgeted anxiously as he relayed the news of Dilly and Eredolyn's conversation to his master. "I do not believe this Eredolyn called for her friend at all. And the friend behaved most suspiciously, always hinting at Eredolyn and speaking of things beyond my comprehension."  
Saruman frowned, shifting his grip on his staff. "I am at a delicate stage in my dealings with that girl. This could ruin everything. Too much of my time has been wasted already. If she knows the whereabouts of the …object I seek, I must have the information from her immediately." His fingers clenched around the staff. "Today," he said decisively. "I must have it this afternoon." He fixed the steward with a cold dark stare. "Prepare a meal for two. I will have luncheon with 'Lady' Eredolyn today."  
His servant bowed deeply, then ventured: "My Lord? What of her friend? Her visit was very strange: if Eredolyn did not call for her, how did she get out of her cell?"  
The wizard considered. "I do not know how much Eredolyn knows of her friends' conditions or whereabouts, but I would rather she remain ignorant. Move the elf and the two girls to different cells. Move that Wlore girl as well." The servant's bow dipped a little lower, and then stopped at Saruman's interruption: "On second thought, just take them to the questioners now. If I don't get an answer from Eredolyn today, I never will. No sense in wasting time with the others."  
The steward smiled unpleasantly, bobbed one final bow, and hurried from the room, heading for the dungeons.

* * *

"Dilly!" Taras shouted. "Dilly, wake up!"  
Dilly jerked awake from her nap, smudging the sleep out of her eyes. "Wha?" she mumbled.  
"Someone's coming, you've got to get out of here – use the bars!"  
"What?" she asked, coming more awake. "What are you smoking, Taras?"  
Taras looked about distractedly for the fire. "It doesn't matter. Dilly, hurry, please, trust me. The bars, in that window in your cell door, they're loose."  
Dilly struggled to her feet. "What? How do you know? What's going on?"  
His voice was haggard. "I heard them just now – the orcs, while you were sleeping – something's gone wrong and they're supposed to round up you and your friends… for questioning…" Dilly's head snapped up. She crossed to her door in a single step, closed both fists around a bar and began tugging. "There's been some sort of problem," Taras was saying. "Someone's escaped… Hurry! Twist it a little as you pull."  
"But that servant said that Saruman wouldn't bother with us unless Eredolyn – "  
"Forget Eredolyn! Pull!"  
The bar in her hand rasped and clanged and Dilly shoved and tugged. It came loose abruptly, scattering wood splinters and fragments of mortar, and leaving a scar like a pulled tooth.  
"Good! Now the other one." Taras watched in agonized suspense as Dilly struggled with the next bar. If one of her friends had escaped, perhaps together the two of them and that Eicys girl could get out of Isengard. And even if she was killed, that was better than the questioners… Why hadn't he told her earlier?  
The second bar pulled free and Dilly attacked the third, panting. This one was easier; after only a few moments, it squealed harshly and fell into Dilly's hand. "One more," she said.  
"Don't bother with it, that one's not as loose. You can fit through there. Hurry!"  
"I'm flattered that you think I'm that thin," Dilly said wryly. Standing on tiptoe, she pushed her arms through the hole and then shouldered her way through, wincing as the jagged sill tore at her skin and clothes. "Mmph! Oh no." She wiggled desperately. She was stuck; her jeans had snagged and the opening was too narrow to squeeze her hand back through and free herself. Her legs hung kicking inside the cell, and the rest of her hung in the hallway, several feet above the ground. "This is kinda awkward," she said, embarrassed and frightened and extremely uncomfortable. "Ow – ow –" She squirmed hard and –  
"Yikes!" Dilly tumbled headfirst out of the little opening, hitting her head and badly bruising one elbow. "I'm out!" she said unnecessarily.  
"Good," Taras panted, his face white and agonized. "Now go!"  
"What?" Dilly demanded. "What about you?"  
"I'll be fine – go!"  
"I'm not going anywhere," Dilly said stubbornly, scrambling to her feet.  
"Yes, you are," he snarled. "Nobody else is going to suffer for me. Now go, I can hear them com – " He stopped in horror as an orc rounded the corner. Dilly whipped around, gasped, and shrank against Taras' door.  
"Dilly, run!" Taras cried as the orc bore down on her, sword raised.  
Too late. The orc crushed Dilly up against Taras' door. "An' where d'you think yer goin'?" he sneered. His sword glared red in the torchlight as he gave her an evil grin. "I'll tell yeh where." He lifted the sword high. "Nowhere!"  
Taras' hand shot from between his bars and grabbed the orc by the throat.  
The creature gurgled and choked as Taras' grip tightened. "Don't – touch – her," he gritted, the sinews in his wrist knotting.  
Wheezing frantically, the orc raised his sword again, aiming it between the bars at the Gondorian's face.  
Dilly squirmed free from where he had her pinned, then turned back and leapt at him. She had no idea why she was doing something so stupidly heroic; she simply clung to the thing's back, pummeling him with fists and feet. The orc dropped his sword in surprise and reeled backward, pulling free from an equally shocked Taras. Shouting, the orc attempted to swat Dilly off his back. But she had already let go and darted toward his fallen sword. The orc stopped, staring at her, then his gaze moved to the blade, which was shaking violently as Dilly pointed it at him.  
"Pathetic," he sneered. "Give it up. Sharkey wants teh have a liddle talk with yeh…" He smiled hideously, and without a flicker of warning, charged at her.  
There was a muted crunch, a horrible scream, and a spatter of warm liquid. Dilly opened her eyes.  
The orc slid bonelessly off the sword in her hands and sprawled on the foor, very dead. Dilly's face and arms were spotted with corrosive black blood. She dropped the sword and it clattered on the flagstones, echoing metallically in the silence.  
"I killed him," she said, and swallowed queasily. "I killed him! I didn't mean to…"  
"Are you hurt?" Taras asked.  
Dilly shook her head, still staring at the dead orc. "No…" She squeezed her eyes shut, praying she wouldn't do anything stupid, like cry or faint or throw up.  
After a moment she opened her eyes again – and from the growing pool of blood, a gleam of metal caught her eye. Dilly gasped, then grabbed it triumphantly. "He had keys!"  
Taras froze, his eyes fixed on the glinting ring in Dilly's hand.  
"We're free!" Dilly crowed, fumbling with his lock. Taras swallowed as he pressed close against his door, watching.  
There was a little click, and the door swung wide.  
Taras just stood there, staring. Dilly beamed at him. Slowly, Taras reached out to touch the familiar, hated door frame. Three years… He took a deep breath and stepped out of his cell.  
And I'm never going back, he vowed. He turned and gave Dilly a smile of pure happiness. Dilly grinned back, picked up the orc's sword, and offered it to him. "Shall we?" she asked, wiping her hands.  
His fingers curled around the hilt. "Definitely," he said. And they set off down the corridor.

* * *

Eicys loitered uneasily near the entrance to Saruman's dining chamber, fiddling with her gauntlets and frequently checking that her hair was still safely tucked beneath its helmet. Occasionally her hand would stray to the little pouch of herbs tucked beneath her armor, and she would have to jerk it away again and look innocent… or at least as innocent as your average orc, which meant not at all.  
She wished Ungrath were here. Eicys had never thought she'd live to see the day she found an uruk's company reassuring, but there it was. And she really ought to talk with him: she'd been rather abrupt back in the dungeon, and he'd been acting strange for days…  
Eicys sighed and hoped that the food came soon. She had no idea how she was supposed to get the contents of her little packet into Saruman's lunch without being caught, let alone how the wizard would ever imbibe the whole thing without noticing. But just then the first of the servant came hurrying down the hallway, his tray laden with a silver pitcher and two goblets.  
_Two?_ thought Eicys. _Man, he must really like his wine_. She watched the servant approach, her mind racing through a slew of ideas, each of them worse than the last. The servant looked intelligent and alert, the tray was right under his eyes, the hallway was completely bare but for the two of them. Eicys had about as much chance of sneaking herbs into that pitcher as Ungrath did of winning a beauty pageant.  
And the servant was giving her suspicious looks…  
Apparently, though, he was too busy giving said looks to remember the fact that he was in a long robe.  
As the man stumbled, Eicys snatched the pitcher just before it fell, sloshing a sizeable amount over herself and the servant. She barely noticed: without even bothering to question such a ridiculously lucky accident, Eicys emptied the entire packet of sleeping powder into the wine while the servant angrily mopped himself off.  
"Clumsy idiot," he snapped, because this orc was little and he could. He snatched the pitcher back, balanced his tray carefully, and strode into the dining hall. Eicys peered after him, almost delirious with her good fortune.  
_What are the odds on that happening?_ she thought gleefully as she sidled carefully after him and took up a position by the doorframe, as though standing guard. Then she looked up at the table.  
Her heart stopped. Eredolyn was sitting across from Saruman… and the servant was filling her goblet with wine.

* * *

Tuima peered through her bars thoughtfully. Cries and curses echoed through the dungeon. An orc rushed past, his torch flaring painfully against her eyes now accustomed to darkness.  
She wondered what had happened to put the foul creatures in such a temper. Perhaps Saruman was in a particularly evil mood that day. As her mind hurtled alarmingly down this train of thought, another torch seared her eyes, just at her door, and behind its light she heard frantic, muttered curses and someone fumbling at the lock. Tuima's breath quickened. She groped for the stone she had worked loose from the wall, raised it high, and brought it smashing down on –  
"Dilly!" Tuima halted mid-swing. The rock dropped from her hands. "What – How – " The dark-haired girl laughed, a little nervously for having narrowly avoided a concussion.  
"Hey Tuima! How are you?"  
"Er… hello, Dilly," Tuima said uncertainly. "Is this the escape then?"  
Just then a tall man, whose dark hair and gray eyes proclaimed him as Gondorian, ducked into her cell, grasping a brightly burning torch.  
"Ai!" Tuima said faintly and shielded her watering eyes. "That's bright!" She eyed the man narrowly. "Who are you?"  
"Oh," Dilly said hurriedly. "Taras, this is my friend Tuima. Tuima, this is Taras Imrahilion, of Dol Amroth." She paused. "Did I say it right that time?" she asked the Gondorian.  
He smiled. "Perfectly," he said.  
"People in this place have the weirdest last names," Dilly said self-consciously.  
Tuima arched an eyebrow, but couldn't help noticing how much more attractive this Taras was when he smiled. Then she saw Dilly, apparently noticing the same thing… except perhaps more so. One pointed brow rose a little higher.  
Dilly blushed. Taras coughed.  
Tuima's eyebrows climbed almost to her hairline.  
"Um, I mean – " Dilly hurried to say. "Yes, this is the escape."  
"Where's Eicys then?" Tuima demanded.  
"We… don't know. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing," Dlly said. Tuima looked horrified. "But it was an emergency!" Dilly hurried on. "Something's gone wrong with Eredolyn… the orcs were coming to take me for questioning…" She shuddered.  
"But we have to have Eicys," said Tuima. "We'll be completely lost without her."  
"No we won't," Dilly said. "Remember she gave me that map?"  
"She said it only showed one floor," Tuima shot at her.  
"Yes, but that storeroom that she said she was stocking is on our floor. We can go there, and – "  
"What about the others?" Tuima asked sharply. "Do you plan on leaving them here?"  
"Of course not," Dilly retorted. "I was saying, we can go to the storeroom and wait for Eicys there. She can help us break the rest of the Immies out of their cells."  
"What if Eicys doesn't come?"  
"Do you have a better idea?"  
Tuima's eyes narrowed dangerously. Taras quickly intervened, taking the map from Dilly. "She's right," he told the Elf. "This is our best chance." He added almost inaudibly, "Which isn't saying much…"  
Taras studied the worn parchment a moment, then jerked his head to the left. "This way."

* * *

Eredolyn gingerly speared an elegant something and even more gingerly put it in her mouth. Across the heavily laden table, Saruman smiled a question.  
"It's good!" Eredolyn said. And it was. She had no idea what it was, but she wasn't going to display her ignorance by asking. The wizard's eyes seemed to pull at her, and she suppressed the urge to babble away the silence by taking another large bite.  
She didn't know why she was so uncomfortable. True, this was her first time dining formally with Saruman, but it was so grand and sumptuous that she ought to have been thrilled, not taken aback. But after talking to Dilly and Eicys, banquets and dresses and even the book Saruman had given her had seemed faintly absurd. Eredolyn had a fleeting thought – _what the heck am I doing here?_ – but squelched it. _Relax, enjoy the meal, they won't be bothering me again…  
_It wasn't a comforting thought. _Relax_, Eredolyn told herself again. She looked up and smiled. "Everything's Dilly," she said. The faintest flicker of annoyed surprise blinked in the depths of Saruman's eyes. "I mean, delicious!" Eredolyn corrected herself, laughing awkwardly. She hurried to cover her mistake: "Please pass the slap." She caught her breath. "The salt!"  
Saruman eyed her consideringly. "Are you well, Lady Eredolyn?"  
Eredolyn fiddled with her spoon. "Oh, I'm fine," she said brightly. He raised a concerned eybrow. "I guess I'm still just a little upset about my friends," she confessed.  
Saruman made an understanding noise, looking so interested and sympathetic that Eredolyn found herself spilling out her troubles: "They just don't understand! They're so – inconsiderate!"  
The wizard's troubled expression at these words seemed to Eredolyn to be almost more than was called for. "Um," she said. "What is it?"  
"Ah – nothing, nothing," he said, now looking even more troubled. "It's merely that…" He waved one elegant white hand. "Do not concern yourself."  
"No – please tell me," Eredolyn said.  
Dark brows creased over the pools of his eyes. "I had hoped to spare you bad news," he said slowly. "But I am afraid it cannot be kept from you any longer… my Lady, your friends have left."  
A sliver of ice slid into the pit of Eredolyn's stomach. "Left?" she echoed stupidly. "Where? …When?"  
"Only a few hours ago," Saruman said, his golden voice saturated with sympathy. "I have sent servants to look for them, but they have had no luck. I am truly sorry, my Lady." He raised a goblet to his lips and watched her over the rim.  
Eredolyn stared vaguely at her own untouched goblet. "Left?" she said again. "…But they didn't even say anything to me!"_ Oh, didn't they?_ a little voice returned mockingly.  
"It was most unbecoming of them to treat you so," Saruman said, with a perfect tinge of fierceness tugging at his compassionate tone.  
Eredolyn nodded, but with less venom than Saruman had hoped for. She was squirming under that little voice in her head that was saying, _Ha! You're a good one to talk about unbecoming treatment to friends._ "I can't believe they would just – just leave," she said numbly. "Didn't they say anything about where they were going? Didn't they leave a message or anything?  
Saruman sighed regretfully. "I had hoped, my dear, that you could tell me. Surely you have some idea of where they might have gone?" Eredolyn shook her head. "Ah, but one so well-versed as you are in the geography of these lands must know something," he pressed. And, gratified by the happy smirk that crossed Eredolyn's face, he moved on too quickly: "Perhaps they have gone to join that company of the Ring I have heard so much about?"  
It almost worked. "They'd better not, without me!" Eredolyn cried. "Not that I'd want to go to –" She stopped, and blinked, and stared suspiciously at Saruman. "Um," she said.  
"Yes?" he said, his voice so perfectly pitched as to sound concerned, and only interested for her sake. But still it managed to press at her: cold, heavy, insistent.  
Eredolyn's hazel eyes emptied. "Go… to…"  
"My lord!"  
Eredolyn jumped, her mind clearing. She heard paper crackling. Saruman whipped around on the servant so quickly that his white hair and robes snapped behind. "I gave explicit instructions –" he hissed.  
"But my lord, in the dungeons, there's been –" The servant stopped abruptly at Saruman's expression.  
"Later," the wizard said venomously.  
Blinking rapidly, the servant backed away. Saruman took a deep, deliberate swallow of his wine and turned again to Eredolyn, whose head was bent over her lap, short hair falling over her eyes.  
"Lady Eredolyn?" he querried gently.  
Eredolyn didn't hear. The crackling paper had been Dilly's note, tucked deep into a pocket, and as soon as Saruman turned, she had pulled it out. Now she sat reading and re-reading the short lines, her heart pounding and her eyes hot and bright. 

_Eredolyn –  
When books are withered and dresses are faded,  
and all wisdom is forgotten,  
you'll still have your friends.  
From your best one  
__– Dilly._

Eredolyn swallowed, drenched in guilt. _What have I done?_ she thought, appalled. Then she looked up at Saruman, who was still wearing that perfect mask of kind concern. It was so easy to miss the tiny flicker of greed and impatience in the depths of his black eyes…  
Snatches of Tolkien came floating back to her, as though across a wide distance: …_a voice low and melodious, its very sound an enchantment… studied long upon the lore of the Rings… the Cunning…Ever he desired… Traitor…  
_Shegulped. Oh, no. How could I be so stupid? SuddenlyEredolyn felt very small and afraid. Saruman seemed to loom in her vision, a cold pale light flickering around him like a terrible halo. The folds of his white robes gleamed like opals, changing colors dizzyingly as he moved. Saruman the White, kind and patient and so wise –  
"Liar," Eredolyn whispered.  
"What was that, my Lady?" he asked, with the faintest edge of a threat.  
Eredolyn would have loved to leap up and denounce him; it was what a hero ought to do, it was what characters always did in stories like this.  
She sat a moment, shivering, and then said in a small and hurried voice: "Um, I really don't feel well… I think I'd better go."  
Saruman drew a quick hissing breath and raised a hand. He was going to say something… that beautiful dark voice…  
"I really have to go!" Eredolyn blurted loudly. She shoved back her chair, leapt to her feet, and fled the room.  
"Follow her!" Saruman hissed wildly at the door guards. One of them leapt forward immediately: a smaller orc with muddy, oversized armor. It hurried after Eredolyn, then paused and looked back. The wizard glared over his goblet as he took a deep, calming draft of the wine, and pointed one long-nailed finger impatiently. The goblin grinned in a weirdly satisfied way, turned, and ran out the door.  
Saruman scowled as he set his goblet down and beckoned for the servant who had approached him earlier. He wished for nothing so much as to blast the incompetent, tactless idiot clean out of the Ring of Isengard, but he had to hear the news first:  
"What's this about a problem in the dungeons?"


	21. Understandings and Misunderstandings

**_Muse Quest  
Chapter 21: Understanding and Misunderstandings_  
**_Being the tale of five fanatics, their companions, their adventures, and their angst

* * *

_

As soon as Eredolyn was out the door she took off running, not even sure of where she was going, just wanting to put as much distance as she could between herself and the wizard. Her heavy skirts tangled awkwardly around her legs and she growled in disgust, hitching them up as high as she could, her old sneakers looking ridiculously out of place. Behind her she heard loud, metallic footsteps, then a _clatter-BANG_. Eredolyn put on a burst of speed, and then suddenly slowed at the sound of a young girl's voice behind her.  
"Stupid, stupid, stupid armor!" Eicys snapped.  
Eredolyn smiled the wobbly grin of profound relief. They hadn't left without her, after all! She turned around. "Eicys?"  
"Eredolyn? Is that you?"  
Eredolyn hurried back to her friend, who was sitting on the floor, wrestling with her bent greave. Eicys looked up. There was an awkward silence.  
"Um, Eicys?" Eredolyn said at last, studying her shoes.  
"Yeah?"  
"I'm really, really sorry."  
Eicys sighed. "I'm sorry too," she said.  
"… For what?" asked Eredolyn blankly.  
"Oh," said Eicys. "Um… I don't know, actually." She tried a smile, which, as smiles go, was a rather bad failure.  
"Well," Eredolyn said, and then again, "Well. Um…"  
"I think we should get out of here," Eicys interrupted.  
"Yes, please," said Eredolyn fervently, and this time Eicys managed a real smile.  
"This way," she said, pointing as Eredolyn helped her to her feet. "We'll get the others from the dungeon and then leave right away."  
Eredolyn nodded, bent down, and ripped her beautiful silken skirts from ankle to thigh.  
"What are you doing?" Eicys cried.  
"Making it so I can run," Eredolyn grunted. She stepped out of the underskirt entirely and ripped a few long strips off its hem, which she used to tie the two halves of her skirt around her legs. The end result was a bunched-up pair of what looked like doubloons.  
"Cute," grinned Eicys.  
"Shut up and run," Eredolyn retorted, and took off down the corridor. Still grinning, Eicys clattered after her baggy friend.  
"So, do we have a plan?" Eredolyn panted as they ran.  
"Sort of. We were supposed to have more time, but it looks like things are coming to a head. I wonder what that servant was talking about… Problems in the dungeons… Well, we'll find out pretty soon, I imagine. In the meantime, the main thing to do is find everyone and get _out_ of this horrible place!" The two of them dashed down a flight of stairs and Eicys jerked her head toward a narrow window as they ran past. "It's a good thing it's daytime still – there's not so many orcs out in the Ring until after dark."  
"Wait a minute," Eredolyn said abruptly. She turned and hurried back to the window. "That isn't right!" she exclaimed.  
"What?" said Eicys. "Eredolyn, we really have to go."  
"No no no, hold on a sec. Look!"  
Eicys peered out onto a desolate, smoking circle ringed with enormous walls. "Yes, thrilling," she said. "Let's go!"  
Eredolyn grabbed her arm. "Doesn't something seem wrong to you?"  
Blue eyes squinted from beneath the heavy orkish helmet. "No."  
"Think about it! We've been here for two, three weeks, right? So where are the Ents?"  
"Ents?"  
"You know," Eredolyn said impatiently. "Hoom-hoom, don't be hasty…"  
"I _know_ what Ents are."  
"Yeah, but they should be here by now! This place," she gestured at the barren Ring of Isengard, "should all be under water!"  
"Not necessarily," said Eicys. "Come on, Ere, we have to go. That sleeping draught won't hold Saruman for long."  
"Sleeping draught?" Eredolyn asked, distracted. "How'd you pull that off?"  
"Saruman has a garden – I gathered the herbs and Tuima made this powder stuff that I put in his wine – he drank a whole bunch while he was talking to you. Anyway, the point is, Isengard stood for _centuries_ before the Ents showed up. We could have arrived months ahead of schedule."  
"No, because I heard Saruman talking about Coralie, and she doesn't show up until the War of the Ring!"  
"What, Coralie is really in Middle-Earth? I thought it was just a fanfic!"  
"It is not just a fanfic!" Eredolyn said mulishly.  
"Okay," Eicys apologized. "But how do we know the Ents won't show up in a week or two? We don't know what day it is."  
"Well it _should_ be the middle of March, because it was late February when we got here."  
"Our time or Middle-Earth time?"  
"Middle-Earth. Saruman mentioned the date a few weeks ago, and it was something like February twenty-eighth, I'm pretty sure. The timeline is all messed up!"  
"How?" Eicys asked impatiently.  
"The Ents show up on March…" Eredolyn thought a moment. "March third. That's about two weeks ago!"  
"Holy Tolkien nerd," Eicys muttered. "So what?"  
"So something's wrong," said Eredolyn. "This place isn't following Tolkien's writing!"  
"This place _is_ Tolkien's writing!"  
Eredolyn bit her lip. "No it's not," she said thoughtfully. "It's Lady Coralie's."  
"_What?_"  
"I'm serious! Think about it. Coralie is _here_, in Middle-Earth. We even met Drysi, remember? And there are human servants, like in _Aussie in King Aragorn's Court_, and I'm pretty sure Tolkien never mentioned any. And there's an herb garden, just like in Coralie's story! It all makes sense! And that explains why the Ents haven't showed up yet – _Coralie hasn't written it!_"  
"You're saying," Eicys said slowly, "that until Coralie writes, the entire story of the Lord of the Rings is in – limbo, or something?"  
"Yes!" said Eredolyn triumphantly.  
"So Isengard never gets flooded, and Theoden doesn't recover, and there's no Pelennor Fields, and the stinking _ring_ can't be destroyed, all because of a bad case of writer's block?"  
"Exactly!"  
"That sucks," said Eicys.  
"Definitely. I hate writer's block."  
Eicys rolled her eyes. "Eredolyn?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Not that this isn't completely thrilling, but I don't think now is the time..." Eredolyn opened her mouth. Eicys sighed, and forestalled further conversation by the straightforward expedient of grabbing her friend by the arm and hauling her toward the dungeons. "I believe your phrase was, 'shut up and run'?"

* * *

Taras, Dilly, and Tuima had found the storeroom without too much trouble, and were now hurriedly collecting weapons, cloaks, and food. That is, Dilly was collecting cloaks and food while Taras tried out a variety of swords and Tuima dug through shelves and boxes, looking for her knives. Dilly rolled her eyes and hastily packed for the other two, as well.  
"Taras, if you don't stop swishing those swords around you're going to take someone's head off," she said as she stuffed a leather flask into Tuima's sack.  
"None of them feel right," Taras complained, whirling one blade in a complicated pattern. "The balance is all wrong."  
"What did you expect from orc weaponry?" Tuima asked, burrowing in a pile of sheaths and belts. Abruptly she emerged, and crude orkish sheaths cascaded off her. "Ha!" She held up her long knives, triumphant. "And look!" She dived back in and extracted a long narrow something from the bottom of the basket. "For you, I imagine," she said, tossing it to Taras. "Eicys thought of everything."  
Taras unsheathed the blade and examined it reverently. He sliced the air experimentally, and was rewarded with a _sszzzing_ noise. "Valar," he breathed. "This is some sword."  
Tuima finished strapping her knives to her back and came over to examine it. "Elvish," she pronounced. "Lorien make." For a moment she stared at it, then sighed. "I wonder who…" Her mouth tightened.  
There was an awkward pause. Dilly silently put a pack into the Elf's arms, and she stood glaring at it a moment before swinging it over her shoulders, making sure her knives were still easily reached. "Come on," Tuima snapped. "Let's get out of here."  
"What about Eicys?" Dilly asked, handing Taras his pack.  
"We can't just wait here and expect to go unnoticed forever. They must certainly be looking for us by now."  
In fact this was untrue. In the commotion upon finding that Wlore had escaped, the Immies had been largely forgotten – though of course they couldn't know this.  
"So what are we supposed to do then?" Dilly argued. "We can't find our way out of here without Eicys, and we certainly can't just take off without anybody else."  
Tuima bit her lip. "We should at least be prepared in case Eicys doesn't turn up. We ought to have some sort of alibi, or disguise…" She trailed off, looking around the storeroom speculatively. Then she gave Taras a look he didn't like at all.  
"What?" the Gondorian asked nervously.  
Tuima smiled evilly. "How would you like to be an orc for a day?" 

Ten minutes later, Taras was strapped into a crude assemblage of leather, steel, and skins, and was grumbling to himself as the girls tugged the finishing touch – a heavy uruk-hai helmet that covered his face – over his head and secured it with yet more straps.  
"Can I at least keep the sword?" he asked plaintively. "Phew, it smells like something died in here."  
"Something probably did," said Tuima crisply. "Now, all you have to do is – "  
"I know, I know, go out and intimidate some hapless goblin into giving me directions." He crammed the helmet further onto his head, muttered something about "obnoxious Elf," and "can't see a thing out of this stupid can," and strode out into the corridor.  
"Okay," Eicys panted as she and Eredolyn dashed down the hundredth flight of stairs. "The storeroom should be just around this – "  
There was a cacophany of strange sounds, which if you listened closely could be sorted into:  
"AAAAHH!" – "What the…" – _CLANG – _"O_of!_" – _CRASH – Clatter – BANG_ – "Hah!"

And then:

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-OW!"

In their hiding place in the storeroom, Dilly and Tuima stared at each other a moment, then rushed out into the corridor.

"OW!"

An orc was sprawled face-down on the stone floor, his armor sending up sparks as he thrashed against the grip of a girl with short hair and baggy trousers, who had her knee planted firmly in his back and his arm twisted up and around into a position which arms are really not designed to be in. "Ow!" the orc yelled again.  
"HEY!" Dilly shouted.  
Eicys and Eredolyn looked up. "Dilly? Tuima? What are you two doing here?" Eicys asked.  
"What have you _done?_" Dilly cried.  
"We came to help you escape!" Eredolyn said, jabbing her knee a little harder into the uruk's back. He yelped.  
"_He_ – " Tuima said coldly, pointing at the uruk, "was already helping us."  
Eredolyn looked down at her prone victim, easing her grip. Taras promptly wrenched his arm free and rolled away. With his good arm, he yanked off the helmet and his long black hair poured out around a pale, angry face.  
Eredolyn took a step backwards. "Oh," she said sheepishly. "Uh, sorry about that…"  
Taras glared at her. "I take it you must be Eredolyn," he said dizzily, rubbing his shoulder. He winced, swung his arm a little, and winced again.  
"Um, yes. Um, sorry." Eredolyn was gaping a little. Even when he was grimacing, Taras was still the most attractive guy she had ever seen. She scooted closer to Dilly. "Ah…"  
Dilly seemed to read her friend's mind. "Mine," she whispered firmly.  
"Drat," said Eredolyn.  
Dilly grinned. "Hey Ere?" she said. "I'm glad you're back."  
"Me too," said Eredolyn. "I feel like I've had my head wrapped in wool for the past three weeks. And I've missed you guys." She looked at her feet. "I'm really, really sorry."  
"Hey, it wasn't your fault," said Dilly. Eredolyn smiled gratefully, and fortunately didn't notice Taras and Tuima giving her mistrustful looks. "And that was a siriously cool karate move," Dilly added straight-faced. Taras glared. Eicys giggled, and the Gondorian gathered up the scraps of his dignity and ignored her. "Now we have everyone – can we get out of this hole?" he demanded.  
"We have to find Cebu," Tuima reminded him.  
"Yeah, and we can't leave Wlore down here either," Dilly put in. Abruptly she noticed the expression on Eicys' face. "What's wrong?"  
Eicys stared at her feet. Tuima was the first to guess. "You couldn't find your sister's cell?" It was not really a question.  
Eicys squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.  
"Oh, no…" said Dilly under her breath.  
"What are we going to do?" Eredolyn asked.  
"We'll go get Wlore out of her cell first," said Tuima decisively. "We can decide where to go from there." There was a scattering of reluctant nods, and they all set off, following Eicys.

* * *

The tower of Orthanc loomed stark and black and menacing over the landscape, its base shrouded in gouts of noxious steam. The ground shook with the pounding of machines and hammers and iron-shod feet, and from deep rents in its tortured surface belched oily black pillars of smoke. Geysers of pale acidic vapor twined around them and laced the wind over Isengard with poisonous fumes.  
Far below, the caverns rang with Saruman's preparations for war…  
Ungrath brought his hammer down heavily on the iron, sending a flurry of sparks spinning into the sweltering heat of the forges. He flipped the sword over and brought his hammer down again.  
_Clang.  
_He liked stone better, and for a while after Saruman had given up on him, Ungrath had worked at quarrying in the deep pits of Isengard. But as soon as the dreams started – weird dreams about mountains and crude stone huts and bright sunlight – he had been taken away from stonework. Now he worked wherever he was needed, usually in the forges because of his size, but he was not allowed near stone.  
He had been designed for fighting, of course. But then…  
_Clang.  
_It wasn't that he had been no good – it was the opposite. He was too big, too strong, too fast. It made him nervous; it was unnatural.  
His _existance_ was unnatural.  
_Clang_. C_lang.  
_He had rebelled. He had given up, thrown his sword away, and waited to be killed.  
He wasn't killed. Saruman had looked at him with that cold, calculating smile – the same smile that was Ungrath's first memory – and sent him back to Isengard, and then forgotten about him.  
_Clang.  
_At least, Ungrath _hoped_ he had been forgotten… The uruk shuddered and cast a glance toward his enormous scimitar, propped against the wall. He kept it at hand all the time now, just in case the wizard ever remembered.  
It had made the other orcs nervous at first, but they knew better now. They loved being able to torment someone so much bigger than themselves, and had settled down to make his life miserable. They'd succeeded, too, until Eicys came.  
Eicys –  
Ungrath swung his hammer viciously.  
_Idiot_, he snarled to himself. _What did yeh expect? She told yeh she was leavin', did yeh really think…  
_He brought his hammer down with such force that the blade he was working on shattered in three pieces.  
"Void take it!" roared Ungrath in frustration. He thrust the pieces back into the fire and brought out a scraper for the hot iron that had been smashed into the anvil.  
_She's leavin'.  
____I don' care.  
____Yer not gonna see 'er agin.  
____I don' care.  
____She's gonna git 'erself killed…  
__Morgoth, I – don'_ – care!  
The steel scraper crumpled on itself like thin tin. Ungrath stared at it a minute, then swore viciously and hurled it away. He peeled the remnants of sword off his anvil with one heavy claw and dumped them into the furnace with the rest.  
There was a commotion beginning near the entrance to the forge. A few of the bellows-pumpers were arguing with the foreman, demanding to be let off "t' see th' fun." Ungrath looked up, glad of a distraction.  
"There 'z sum liddle yellow-hair human runnin' loose," one stooped orc was saying.  
The bottom dropped out of the world. Ungrath felt as though he were falling, as though he'd been scraped hollow with a chunk of ice…  
"Tryin' ter 'scape th' tower," the hunched creature continued, grinning obscenely. "Idiot got lost, o' course…"  
Somewhere in the hollow pit of horror a fire built up…  
"We wanna see't when they ketch 'er," the orc finished, licking thin black lips in ghoulish anticipation.  
_**BANG.  
**_The orcs whipped around. Ungrath's anvil was rocking on its side, and Ungrath himself was hurtling towards them furiously, pulling his massive scimitar out of its sheath as he ran.  
"Oy, Experiment!" yelled the stooped one. "Where d'ya think yer – "  
Ungrath punched him in the chest.  
There was a crunch of bent metal and broken bone, and abruptly the orc was sprawled limply against a wall several feet away, and Ungrath was gone. 


	22. Culture Clash

_**Muse Quest  
Chapter 22: Culture Clash  
**In which Eicys learns that Orcs and Gondorians don't mix..._

_

* * *

_Ungrath tore through Orthanc's echoing black hallways, scimitar in hand. Orcs dove out of his way. There were a lot more of them out than usual, especially for daytime, and they moved in packs, peering into corners and jostling each other in unpleasantly high spirits. Everyone knew something was afoot. Ungrath hurled himself down the stairs to the dungeons, falling more than running, landed on his feet, and barrelled onward, further down into the black pits beneath the tower.  
When he heard Eicys' voice, he was going almost too fast to stop. He flung out a hand and caught hold of an open cell door on his right; there was a grating squeal of stone and metal and splintering wood, and Ungrath skidded to a halt. He looked ruefully at the half of the door still clenched in his fist. Then he threw it aside and tried to listen for Eicys again over his own harsh breathing.  
The dungeons were silent, but with the sort of silence that implies that several people are all trying very hard not to make a sound. Ungrath looked around helplessly, in a sort of panic. He had heard her!  
"H'llo?" he panted, his voice grating.  
There was a faint noise down the corridor. Ungrath flung himself toward it, swung around a corner – and almost crashed into a small group of people. They stumbled backwards, gaping, terrified, groping for weapons. In front, blue eyes wide –  
"Eicys!" Ungrath choked. He felt limp with relief. _She's not dead, they didn' ketch 'er, Hand an' Eye, she's arright…  
_"Ungrath?" she said, astonished. He nodded, his chest still heaving. "Where did you come from?"  
"Down," he said, jerking his head. "Forge-work t'day." He started forward again. "Eicys –" The little group behind her suddenly bristled with weapons, all trained on him.  
"Guys, it's okay!" Eicys said hurriedly. "I know him!"  
There was a pause. "So?" said Tuima.  
Eicys shot her a dirty look. "I'll be right back," she said to the group at large, and tugged on Ungrath's hand. He jumped, pulled free, and followed her down the corridor, throwing a look over one massive shoulder at Eicys' friends, who watched him suspiciously, gripping their weapons.  
"What's wrong?" Eicys asked him when they were alone. "What happened?"  
He swallowed a deep breath. "They said… they said someone was tryin' teh escape, and they were gonna come an' see the fun…when they caught 'er…"  
Eicys looked frightened. "But we haven't heard anything… We haven't even run into any orcs." She paused. "Except you," she added.  
"What're yeh gonna do then?"  
"We're getting out of here!" Eicys said, smiling happily. "As soon as we get the others, we're leaving this pit behind and never coming back!"  
"Oh," said Ungrath.  
"I can't wait," she said dreamily. "No more disgusting food and oversized armor and being cold and dirty and tired…"  
"Oh," Ungrath said again. He scowled at the floor. "Eicys, yeh can't," he burst out suddenly. "Yer never gonna make it outta here alive."  
"Yes we will," Eicys argued, startled out of her daydreams. She grinned at him. "Especially if you help."  
He looked at her for a moment, a furious debate raging behind his eyes. Yes, he probably could get her out. He knew how good he was at fighting…  
Ungrath closed his eyes against the memories. If he agreed to fight again, if he got her and her friends out of Isengard…  
_She'd be gone –  
Yeah, but she doesn' belong here… Eye, no one belongs here, but 'specially not Eicys…  
She's leavin' anyway. I help, an' mebbe she'd survive – But I wouldn',_ he realized. If he wasn't killed getting her out, Saruman certainly wouldn't let him live much longer afterwards…  
"Ungrath?" Eicys asked worriedly.  
He looked down at her and sighed. "Yeah," he said roughly, wearily. "Yeah, I'll help."  
Eicys beamed, and it was almost worth it. "I'm glad you finally showed up," she said, adding jokingly, "I was afraid we were going to have to leave without you!"  
"Yeah," Ungrath said miserably.  
She cocked her head, puzzled. "Ungrath? You okay?"  
"What?" he said. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."  
"It's just… You don't seem too happy about this." She peered up at him anxiously. "Don't you want to get out, too?"  
He blinked. "Get out? O' where?"  
"Of Isengard!"  
He frowned. Then understanding struck him like a fist. "Wha'… me, too?"  
"Of course!" Eicys said in surprise. "You didn't think I'd just leave you here?"  
Ungrath was silent.  
"You _did_," she breathed. "You thought I was just going to take off, without even saying goodbye."  
The uruk shrugged one massive shoulder. "Didn' think yeh'd care," he muttered.  
Eicys looked indignant. "What? You're my friend! Of course I care!"  
Ungrath's head snapped up, and he stared at Eicys. There was a dead silence. "_What_?" the uruk managed at last.  
"I said of course I care."  
"No…" he said, his voice strangled, "before tha'..."  
Bewildered, Eicys said, "You're my friend."  
Ungrath took a step backward.  
"Ungrath…" Eicys pressed. "I can't believe you… You agreed to help and everything, and you thought you'd have to stay here? But they'd kill you!"  
Ungrath nodded absently.  
Taras, concerned and impatient, moved toward the two of them, unseen by either. Ungrath probably wouldn't have seen a mumak bearing down on him. He was struggling to cram his thoughts back into some semblence of order, and failing miserably. "I…" he stammered. "I'm yer… But…"  
_Void take it, what's wrong with me?_ He took a deep breath, and said, very carefully, "Yer serious?"  
Eicys blue eyes were anxious. "Of course."  
Ungrath took another step backwards.  
"An' – an' you want me teh come with yeh?" he persisted, as though trying to detect a trick.  
Eicys nodded mutely.  
Ungrath backed clear into the wall. He stood there a moment, staring at her. She stared back at him, her fingers twisting together nervously. _Morgoth, she_ is _serious_, he realized. And slow as sunrise, an enormous ugly smile crept across Ungrath's face and grew until his weird eyes were dancing with joy.  
Eicys grinned back, relieved. "So, you're coming with us, right?"  
If it was even possible, his smile widened. "'Course," he said happily.  
"Good," said Eicys firmly.  
"What!" Taras exploded from just behind Eicys.  
She spun, startled almost out of her wits. "What's with _you_?" she snapped, made irritable by her fright.  
Taras ignored her. "We're taking an orc?" he demanded, loud and appalled. Ungrath's smile vanished. Down the corridor, the other Immies stopped talking and stared at the three of them in a sort of horrified shock.  
"You're not serious," Dilly and Eredolyn said, more or less simultaneously, and in more or less identical tones of disbelief. Eicys closed her eyes. This was not going as well as she'd hoped.  
"Are you crazy?" Taras was saying wildly. "Are you completely _crazy_? He'll turn us over to Saruman first chance – he'll murder us the second our backs are turned! Kill it now and let's get out of here!"  
Ungrath's fangs glinted in the faint torchlight as one fist closed around his scimitar. "Jest try," he growled volcanically.  
Taras' sword swept from its sheath in a single elegant movement; he moved protectively in front of the group of girls and pointed it at Ungrath. The uruk dragged Eicys out of the way and snarled at Taras, a grating slavering sound that made everyone back away hastily. Taras stood erect and motionless, his prison rags hanging around his tall, lean form, his sword and eyes both gleaming cold and deadly.  
"Stop that!" Eicys cried, jumping back between the two of them. "Just stop it, okay? _Listen _to me."  
To her surprise, they did; though Taras kept his sword out. As she was standing directly in front of it, this made Eicys more than a little uncomfortable. "I kinda hoped to break this to you guys gently and all, but there isn't time," she said, scanning her friends. "This is Ungrath." She indicated, unnecessarily, the massive uruk just behind her shoulder.  
Ungrath's gaze slid nervously across the Immies' faces. They stared back at him in varying degrees of loathing, fear, and fascination. He hurriedly fixed his eyes on the ground and wished fervently to be somewhere else.  
"Look, I know he's an orc," Eicys was saying, "but he's – " She searched frantically for the word.  
"That's not an orc," Tuima muttered not-quite-under her breath as she eyed Ungrath's enormous bulk. "That's a _troll_." Ungrath looked up, his dark eyes furious. There was a quick intake of breath from Dilly. Tuima stared back at Ungrath coolly, her expression contriving to indicate that, against all evidence, the uruk was beneath her.  
Eicys bristled. "Look, he saved my life, all right? Ungrath is my friend, and if you don't want him along you can just find your own way out of this place, because he's coming with me. Now Taras, stop waving that stupid sword and let's_ go_." She pushed Taras aside and marched to the front of the group. "Come on, Ungrath," she said.  
Ungrath blinked, shut his mouth, and followed, sidling gingerly past the Gondorian. "Yeh didn' have teh do tha'," he muttered to Eicys. "They're not gonna be happy…"  
"Well you didn't have to start growling and stuff at Taras. Now he's really going to be suspicious."  
"Couldn't'a made it worse'n it was," Ungrath muttered. "An' he shouldn't 've pointed tha' sword at yeh. You never did nothin'."  
"Neither did you," Eicys said simply. Ungrath shot her a startled look and was silent. "He'll get over it," Eicys told him. Ungrath craned to peer over his shoulder: the Gondorian was glowering fiercely and his knuckles were white around his sword hilt. Ungrath seriously doubted that Taras was going to 'get over it'. The _tark_ saw him watching, and pointedly pulled his sword from its sheath another fraction. No; he was definitely nowhere near 'getting over it'.  
Ungrath bared his teeth and moved protectively closer to Eicys. He was feeling slightly dizzy, as though the earth had just heaved up to dump him on his back, then shifted so that he'd ended up on his feet instead. He wondered if he'd rather just be on his back, where things made sense.  
Then Eicys shot him a look of suppressed excitement and anxiety, her blue eyes twinkling from beneath the heavy orkish helmet. "Be there soon," she said, and Ungrath had to fight to keep himself from grinning like an idiot again. 

Taras watched the two of them with a twinge of nervous foreboding clawing at his middle. He didn't like this at all. Orcs were for killing – that's what they were created to do, and what Taras had been trained his whole life to do to them. Fear and hatred of orcs were practically bred into Gondorians: anyone who viewed them with any other emotion didn't live long. Taras had known the wretched things had the power of speech, but he'd never heard anything from them but swearing and threats. He had certainly never _spoken_ to one, and the thought of having one for a companion was simply ridiculous. More than that – it was _wrong_. There were some things that just didn't happen, and Taras liked it that way: straightforward, honest. Simple.  
He was startled out of his thoughts by Eicys' cry of surprise. "She's not here!" she exclaimed, staring into an empty cell.  
Tuima hurried up. "You're sure this is Wlore's?" she asked.  
"Yes!" Eicys wailed. "I'm positive!"  
The Immies looked at each other. A silent "_now what_?" hovered in the air.  
"Well," said Eredolyn. "Maybe she already escaped." It sounded absurd even to her.  
"Or maybe Saruman let her out and she's back to working in the kitchens," Dilly ventured.  
"Or maybe neither," Tuima said grimly. The others exchanged apprehensive glances.  
"Well," the Elf said finally, "there's nothing we can do. We have to get out of here before it's too late."  
"What about my sister?" Eicys demanded.  
Tuima hesitated, thinking. "I think we should split up," she said.  
"What?" several people cried.  
"Why?" asked Dilly.  
"It's the only thing to do," Tuima said. "If we all stay to look for Cebu, we're all sure to be caught. This way, at least some of us will get out."  
There was an unpleasant silence as they thought about all the possible meanings of "some of us".  
"I'm staying," Eicys said. "She's my sister." Wordlessly, Ungrath moved to her side, folding his massive arms over his chest.

Taras' thoughts boiled furiously. One thing he did _not_ plan on was allowing anyone to be alone with the orc, even Eicys, who seemed to know it best. But the last thing in the world he wanted to do was let Dilly go on alone. If only someone else would volunteer…  
Silence.  
_Please, please…  
_Silence.  
Taras took a deep breath.  
"I'll stay too," he said with his eyes shut. When he opened them again, most of the Immies were looking at him curiously, except for Tuima, who looked deeply relieved – she had obviously been thinking along the same lines as Taras – and Dilly, who looked shocked and a little hurt. Taras closed his eyes again.  
"But you can't leave the others alone," Eicys protested. "I'll be fine with Ungrath."  
"No," said Taras. He tried to think of something else to say, but couldn't. "No."  
"Yes, I will," said Eicys. "You really shouldn't leave the others. I appreciate it and everything…"  
"I'm staying," Taras said in a tone that defied all argument. He hadn't felt so miserable in three years.  
"Well," said Eicys awkwardly. "Thanks."  
"Wait a minute," Eredolyn cut in. "How are we supposed to find our way out if Eicys _and_ the – uh, and… Ungrath… are staying?"  
Tuima looked up quickly. "Don't you know your way around?" she asked Eredolyn. But the girl shook her head.  
"I stayed on the top floors the whole time, and I never even really found my way around there. I'm as lost as anyone."  
Tuima said something in Sindarin that she probably shouldn't have. "One of you will have to come with us," she said wearily to Eicys and her enormous shadow.  
As she had expected, Eicys folded her arms and said stubbornly, "I'm staying to look for Cebu. Ungrath can go with the rest of you." Ungrath looked at her sharply. "Um…Won't you?" Eicys asked, sounding a little uncertain.  
"I'm stayin' wi' you," he said mulishly. "Yeh need lookin' after, Eicys."  
"So you've said before," Eicys said dryly. "But Taras is coming with me." Taras was silent. _Of all the ironic…_ he thought furiously. And of course he wouldn't let Eicys go alone, but – _Valar, why this?_ He clenched his fists and threw an agonized look at Dilly, who was staring unhappily at her feet. The knot in Taras' stomach tightened until it hurt.  
"Please, Ungrath," Eicys was saying. "This is the only way."  
_No,_ thought Taras. No, there _had_ to be another way. Once before he had left the people he cared about, thinking he was doing the right thing – sacrificing himself by drawing off the orcs. And what had happened? He had survived. He had no idea what might have happened to Eomer. And Lothiriel, his baby sister, the person he loved more than anyone …  
Taras swore under his breath and turned away sharply. What else could he do? There was no doubt in his mind that leaving a young girl like Eicys alone with an orc was as good as sentencing her to death. But to let the orc go with _Dilly_ –  
But he didn't have a choice. And he knew Dilly could take care of herself; he had seen it before. And she'd be with the Elf, and her friend Eredolyn – who, Taras admitted reluctantly, was more than a capable fighter.  
"Please, Ungrath?" Eicys said again, and Taras was jerked back to the present as the uruk sighed explosively.  
"Right," Ungrath said, and then again, "Right." He turned to the Immies, then back to Eicys. "Yer sure yeh won' – "  
"I'll be _fine_, Ungrath. This is important. Please?" After a long pause, Ungrath jerked his head once. Eicys' face split into a relieved smile. "Thanks," she said. "Well, we'd better get going…"  
Ungrath jerked his head again. He surveyed his new charges guardedly. "This way," he grunted.  
"Wait…" said Eicys, and caught his arm. "Be… be careful, okay?" She gave him a quick hug and said, "I'll see you soon. Take care of the others for me."  
Ungrath stood rooted to the spot with astonishment for the third time that day. By the time he recovered, Eicys had finished hugging the others and was carefully and innocently not waiting for Taras.  
The Gondorian stood awkwardly in front of Dilly, fiddling with his sword hilt. "Um," he said unhappily. "Dilly, I…"  
Dilly forced a small smile, and looked down at her feet again. So for a moment she was taken very much by surprise when Taras suddenly pulled her into a fierce hug – but only for a moment. Then she hugged him back and whispered, "Take care of yourself, Taras."  
"You too," he said painfully into her hair.  
They stood looking at each other for an awkward moment, then Taras turned away sharply, and with a chorus of forlorn goodbyes, the other Immies were herded away down the corridor by a still rather dazed Ungrath. A stunned flatness looked out of his odd brown eyes.  
_She really meant it…  
_He halted. "Jest a minute," he told the Immies roughly. "Stay there." He hurried back the way they had come, and caught up with Taras before he turned the corner after Eicys. The Gondorian prince whirled at the sound of footsteps, his sword blurring as he whipped it out of the sheath. The point halted, almost reluctantly, a foot from Ungrath's armored chest. The orc ignored it.  
"Listen,_ tark,_" he growled as he loomed over Taras. "You take care o' her, unnerstand? 'Cause if anythin' happens teh her, I swear by the Eye yeh won' live teh see t'morrow."  
Taras' grey eyes blazed. He lowered his sword and stepped close to Ungrath, cold fury in every line. "_You_," he hissed, "do _not_ threaten me. I would not think twice about killing you now, and if Dilly and her friends do not make it safely out of this tower, you will be dead before you can even _begin_ to worry about tomorrow. _I_ am not so stupid as to trust you."  
Ungrath growled, his fists clenching. Taras didn't move; his eyes were flat and hard as stone. They faced each other thus for an instant, then Ungrath turned and stalked back down the corridor after the others. Taras sheathed his sword and flung himself around the corner after Eicys, fuming. _Orcs!

* * *

_

Wlore prowled the echoing black corridors with one of the orc's blades in her hand and the other thrust into her belt, shrinking into the shadows whenever she heard a noise. Every muscle quivered with adrenaline. She knew the exit was on this floor, but the tower of Orthanc was as devious as its master, and its gleaming obsidian hallways were so twisted and convoluted that Wlore was by now completely lost. It didn't help that she had to keep leaping into side passages to avoid the wizard's many servants and warriors – especially when all she really wanted to do was leap out yelling war cries.  
Months of servitude and dungeon time hadn't broken Wlore's spirit. They had made her mad.  
She watched two goblins go past, squabbling, and hissed with impotent fury from the safety of her hiding place.  
One of the orcs heard. He paused, and turned. Waving at his companion for silence, he took a few curious steps down the branching passage, and peered into the carved recess where Wlore was hiding.  
There was a nasty crunching noise, and the orc sprawled backwards, dead before he hit the floor. His companion a few feet away stiffened and slowly craned his neck to look.  
Out of the shadows, two blue eyes looked back at him. Something about the icy gleam of those eyes reached deep down into the base of the goblin's spine and pressed a little button marked Primal Terror.  
"Oh – " said the orc, and then Wlore dove at him, both blades flashing. He managed one terrible scream before she finished him off. The Rohirric girl didn't waste any time; her dirks were barely free of the corpse before she was halfway down the hall, cursing furiously about "stupid – letting him – go for the throat first next time –"  
She'd just blown her cover.  
And sure enough, the furious roars and snarls of orcs attracted by the scream soon reached her ears. Within seconds she could hear their footsteps, pounding after her. _Here we go, then_… 


	23. War Cries

_**Muse Quest  
Chapter 23: War Cries  
**In which the Immies' escape plans take a turn for the worse

* * *

_

Eredolyn watched the orc with a sort of horrified fascination as he led their group up yet another flight of stairs. He was so ugly…  
And yet he didn't fit. He wasn't a proper orc at all. Those eyes, for one thing… and of course his friendship with Eicys. And he was much larger than any of the other orcs, and was dressed differently, too – and Eredolyn had noticed something else that no one else seemed to: Ungrath's accent. He sounded nothing like the rest of the Isengard orcs. What he _did_ sound like was the Dunlending servant who had brought Eredolyn her meals.  
That made absolutely no sense.  
Curiosity killed the cat, Eredolyn knew, but hey, things didn't look too good right now anyway.  
"Um, Ungrath?"  
"Mm?" he grunted without turning around.  
"You're not from around here, are you?"  
He stopped so abruptly Eredolyn almost collided with him, turned around, and gave her a warning glare. Eredolyn shrank. "I've always lived in Isengard," he said firmly, then turned and kept walking.  
"Oh," said Eredolyn in a small voice. _Liar_, she thought.  
"Um, so… Why are you helping us?"  
Tuima made frantic motions for her to be quiet, but it didn't matter much anyway, since the orc stayed silent.  
"Ungrath?" Eredolyn prodded.  
"_What?_"  
"So why are you helping us?"  
"Nosy liddle thing, aren't yeh?"  
"You're avoiding the question."  
Ungrath swung around and stared at her, obviously surprised. He seemed to be wondering whether or not to be angry, but instead he just shrugged and kept walking. Eredolyn opened her mouth again, but the orc forestalled further questions: "Eicys asked me to."  
"But why are you helping Eicys?"  
"She's my friend," the uruk said, and Dilly noticed his shoulders go back proudly.  
"I thought orcs didn't want friends," Eredolyn said, mostly to herself.  
"They don'."  
Eredolyn blinked at his flat tone and thought for a minute. "But _you're_ an orc."  
"Yes."  
"So why don't you – "  
"Are all humans this nosy?" Ungrath demanded, swinging around again. "Eicys does tha', too."  
"Sorry," Eredolyn said. "You've known Eicys a long time, then?"  
"Morgoth," he swore. "Yer worse'n Sharkey."  
"What, Saruman asks lots of questions?"  
"Only teh…" He shut his mouth tight. "Look, jest shut up, can't yeh?"  
"Only to who?"  
He didn't answer.  
"To you?"  
"An' a few others," he said defensively.  
"There are more like you?"  
"No," he said shortly. "None like _me_. I didn' work."  
There was a perplexed silence while Eredolyn tried to figure this out without annoying the orc any further. "Er…"  
"Look," he growled, turning around and looming horribly. "Before yeh ask, I'll jest tell yeh – _I ain't gonna answer._ So jest shut yer mouth and keep walkin'." And he stalked away.  
"Oops," Eredolyn muttered to Dilly. She nodded.  
_As though the _tark_ an' the Elf weren't bad enough_, Ungrath growled to himself, mostly to cover how flustered he was. _What's next – one o' them Strawheads?  
_"Stop."  
Everyone paused and looked curiously at Tuima. Her back was rigid and her head was cocked slightly. "Sshh," she hissed. "Hear it?"  
They strained their ears, and were rewarded with a faint crashing yell, muffled by the thick stone walls.  
"There's a fight going on," said the Elf, staring at nothing. She listened intently, then her eyes snapped back into focus and she looked wildly at the others. "I can hear Wlore!"  
"What? How can you tell?"  
"Who else would be screaming Rohirric war-cries in Orthanc?" Tuima asked impatiently.  
Ungrath frowned. _Rohirric… _"Yer friend – she's a Strawhead?"  
"A what?" Dilly asked.  
"That's the Dunlending term for the Rohirrim," Eredolyn said knowledgably, and a bit suspiciously.  
"Oh," said Dilly. "Yeah, Wlore's from Rohan."  
"Figures," Ungrath muttered.  
"What?"  
"Nothin'." He turned to Tuima. "Where's the fightin' at?"  
"It's hard to tell with the echoes…"  
"Try," the orc said flatly.  
Tuima stiffened and gave Ungrath a glare that suggested she was trying to weld his eyeballs to the back of his skull. Chin raised haughtily, she pointed to her right.  
"Great," Ungrath growled irritably. "Tha's th' only way out."  
"Well, we'd have to go that way anyway, wouldn't we?" said Eredolyn.  
Ungrath squinted. "Why?"  
"To rescue Wlore."  
He stared. "What, are yeh crazy? Yeh don' git into a fight in Isengard 'less yeh got a death wish. Yeh jest – don't."  
"What else can we do?" said Dilly, her voice tight. "We can't just let her get killed."  
"Why not?"  
The Immies were shocked. Ungrath seemed genuinely puzzled.  
"Well, you did say it was the only way out, anyway," Eredolyn said, feeling that an explanation would probably be unsuccessful.  
Dilly had a better idea. "She's our friend," she said firmly, and was rewarded by a funny glint in the uruk's eye. It disappeared almost immediately as he realized what that meant, and with it died another, brighter light, fading slowly away to leave a horrible flat hopelessness in its place.  
"Right," he said, and looked down at his hands. Slowly his claws curled around the hilt of his scimitar, then he pulled it out with a jerk. The three Immies stepped back involuntarily; the weapon was at least as long as Dilly was tall.  
_Maybe we won't get killed after all,_ Tuima thought, but without much hope.  
Ungrath nodded to himself, still staring at his blade. He was standing straight again, his face grim and resigned.  
"Well," he said harshly. "Let's go then."  
Just before they reached the fighting, Ungrath put out a heavy claw and pulled the Immies up short. "Listen," he grated. "No hero stuff, right? Jest grab yer friend and run, an' leave th' fightin' teh me. Th' exit's on yer right – there's a long hall an' then a big room an' the main door. Yeh'll prob'ly be arright once yer out in th' sunlight."  
They all nodded. "Ready?" Eredolyn said, jangling with nerves. More nods. Eredolyn took a deep breath, raised her weapon, and charged.  
She had learned in martial arts class once that the best way to get up your courage in a situation like this – well, not exactly like _this;_ she sincerely doubted her sensei had been thinking of orcs when he was giving his lesson – was to yell.  
So Eredolyn yelled.  
The others caught the feeling and yelled, too: Tuima was shouting some sort of Elven war-cry and Dilly simply opened her mouth and screamed as they rounded the corner, and sound and terror dissolved in the instant chaos of battle.  
Eredolyn was a black belt, and she and Dilly had taken fencing together and were really very good. And Tuima had been trained in the use of her longknives by the elite Wardens of Lothlorien.  
They were as good as dead.  
What movies and stories and such always fail to mention, Dilly realized as she narrowly avoided death for the third time in as many seconds, is that when you are hopelessly surrounded, the word "hopeless" actually _does_ apply in some cases. Never to the heroes of course – but is that because the heroes never die or simply because the ones that _do_ die don't get written about?  
She flung up her sword and against all odds survived for another breath.  
And then Ungrath was there.  
With an animal roar he flung himself around the corner, scimitar a blur, and there was a sickening pause in which every person in the room, Immie and orc alike, experienced the feeling of all thought fleeing the skull to make room for the enormous weight of sheer terror.  
The weight lifted from Tuima's mind just enough for her to manage a fleeting thought – _Sweet Elbereth, I'm glad he's on our side – _and then the battle resumed full-force, and there was no room for thought, only movement. Tuima whirled and struck and and slashed with a speed that would have amazed her old teachers but somehow never seemed to be quite fast enough. The world seemed to be rushing past, buffeting her in its slipstream. She ducked, leapt back, dodged certain death by a scant centimeter… An orc sliced her shallowly across the arm, sending her off-balance, and the creatures dove at her, howling. By sheer luck she caught one across the throat; he screamed and staggered into his comrade, but there were so many more, and Tuima slashed uselessly at them as she fought to get back into the rhythm of battle – she was falling, they were almost on top of her –  
Three orcs landed heavily on the Elf. She screwed up her eyes –  
And realized they were dead. Ungrath had his back to her and was driving off the others with huge sweeping blows that brought down orcs like sheaves of corn. Tuima struggled out from under the bodies and plunged back into the fight, wisely keeping close to Ungrath. If they survived this, it would be because of him.  
The uruk hacked a swath through the room, Tuima close behind him to finish off the wounded and prevent anyone from sneaking up on him. When they neared Wlore, Tuima darted through the press of bodies to stand back-to-back with the Eorling. Wlore was swaying with exhaustion and her face was flecked with blood, red and black. Her teeth were bared in a fierce grin and her eyes shone with battle-fury. Rohirric war-cries rose high and defiant over the din.  
"Wlore?" Tuima panted. The girl nodded. "Exit's there… on your… left." Tuima skewered an orc and winced horribly. "Run… Follow Ungrath."  
"Who?" Wlore gasped as she slashed at a goblin's neck.  
_Crack. _"The orc."  
"_What_?"  
"On… our side." _Stab, kick._ "Big one."  
"Are you crazy?" Wlore demanded, dodging a thrust. "Orcs… aren't on…" _clang _"our…" There was a horrible wet crunching noise, and the two orcs that she was battling fell dead, minus a head and… a half. Wlore gagged. Ungrath nodded to her and swung his scimitar in a rapid pattern that left three orcs stabbed, gutted, and headless, respectively.  
"Come on!" he roared over the scream of battle, and began cutting his way to the exit. Orcs clawed frantically at one another, trying to get out of his way, but none of them managed it.  
"…Forget I said anything," Wlore panted, face pale. "Whew, I'd like to see the fighter that could stand up to _him_."  
"I wouldn't," Tuima said fervently as she and Wlore ran in Ungrath's wake.  
"Where's the others?" Wlore gasped, parrying a thrust.  
Tuima looked around wildly. "There!" she said, pointing with one knife. And then –  
"Dilly!" Tuima shrieked.  
Up until now they had been fighting mainly the smaller orcs, most of the big Uruk-hai having left Isengard some time ago to intercept the Fellowship. But apparently the fighting had attracted some of the uruks still left, because one of them had just broken Dilly's sword in two, and was now swinging his weapon down for the killing blow.

* * *

Eicys and Taras hurried through the dark labyrinth of Isengard's dungeons, weapons at the ready.  
"Haven't we been past here already?" Taras hissed, swinging his torch around to examine yet another row of empty cells.  
"No, for the fifth time. And before you ask for the sixth time, no. I _do _have some idea of what I'm doing, you know."  
Taras nodded, abashed, but he kept glancing around impatiently.  
Eicys was humming nervously under her breath: _The Phantom of the Opera._ "…Is there, inside your mind…" she sang.  
"What's inside my mind?" Taras asked.  
"The Phantom!"  
"Actually, I think it's that song," he said pointedly.  
"Fine," Eicys sulked. They hurried on.  
Abruptly Taras stopped. "Is _that_ inside my mind?" he asked. Strains of eerie music echoed down the corridor, sounding vaguely like bells. Eicys listened for a few bars, her lips moving along with the music.  
"That's _Phantom_! It's Cebu!" she exclaimed.  
"Wait – Your sister is…?"  
"Of course not," Eicys said, annoyed. "That's her playing!"  
"How do you know it isn't orcs? It sounds nothing like any music I've ever heard."  
"Yeah, 'cause Middle-earth doesn't even have opera, let alone a Phantom of one! Come on – follow that music!" She took off running down the corridor, Taras close behind.  
Then they rounded a corner and collided head-on with an orc.  
The stunted creature stumbled a few steps, growling – and caught sight of Taras. His claws scrabbled for his sword.  
Taras lunged. Fast as a striking snake, he smashed a fist into the orc's jaw, at the same time seizing his enemy's sword hilt. The orc staggered backwards, leaving its weapon in Taras' grip. Without even a pause, the Gondorian slammed the blade forward again, running it up to the hilt in the creature's stomach.  
The whole brief process made a noise like _ssschh-hhgkugkh_, followed by a horrible gurgling scream, another _khgukkh, _and silence.  
And then a _thump_ as Eicys sat down hard and tried to compose herself.  
"Are you all right?" Taras asked.  
"Sure, yeah, fine," Eicys said in a slightly hysterical voice. She stared avidly at the ceiling and concentrated on keeping her latest meal where it belonged.  
"Need help?" Taras asked, offering a hand.  
"Oulgh, _no_. Not from you," Eicys said, scooting away. Taras' fingers dripped oily black blood.  
"Oh," he said, embarassed. "Sorry." He scrubbed his hands on his pants and put them out again. Eicys grasped them, shuddered, and scrambled to her feet before hurriedly pulling Taras down the corridor towards the sound of _Phantom of the Opera_.

* * *

Author's Note- I REALLY should not be on the Internet right now, but I think my brain is about to explode if I don't let it do something fun! (A sentiment I think EVERYONE in the middle of finals can empathize with, Immie or not!) We just want to thank everyone who has reviewed. You guys inspire us to write more and we love you! We hope you're still enjoying the story. Thank you again!-The Immies. 


	24. Meetings and Farewells

**_Muse Quest Chapter24: Meetings and Farewells_  
**Warning: This chapter contains violent images. Skim the last section if you are squeamish.  
Thanks again to all our wonderful readers! You guys are the greatest-I know this chapter is evil, but hey, it's finals week.

_He brought up his scimitar, slowly, and pointed it at the wizard. "Stay back!" he rasped.

* * *

_

Dilly swung wildly with the shattered stub of her sword as the uruk's blade came rushing toward her face. She felt her weapon catch his with a jarring metallic shudder, then –  
Dilly screamed and staggered sideways, dropping her broken weapon, both hands clutching at her shoulder. Gouts of blood poured between her fingers, spurting in time with her shocked and ragged breathing. She stared dumbly into the orc's evil face as he raised his weapon again…  
Eredolyn came cannoning out of nowhere, a furious flurry of limbs and sword and velvet. _Crunch_.Sword forgotten, the black-belt slammed the heel of her hand straight into the uruk's flat ugly nose. He reeled backwards as Eredolyn grabbed her friend and pelted towards the exit, Dilly stumbling just behind.  
"Come on!" roared Ungrath, ripping his way through the melee. The two girls darted behind him and out into the corridor, where they were joined by Tuima and Wlore, both panting and bloody.  
"Oh, no," Tuima gasped out, hurrying to help Eredolyn support their injured friend. Dilly's face was a stark, painful white, and the flecks of red and black blood stood out vividly on her skin.  
"Let go," she gasped, struggling out of their grip. "I'm _fine!_" She took two steps, staggered, and grabbed Wlore's sleeve on the way down. "Okay, maybe not," Dilly admitted tightly. "Help me up. Where's Ungrath?"  
As if in answer, the orc came barelling down the corridor toward them. "Hurry!" he yelled. "They've gone fer help, we gotta git out _now_!"  
"Dilly's hurt!" Tuima yelled back. Ungrath looked at the dark-haired girl, who was grimacing horribly, pressing a fist against her mouth to keep from screaming. Then without preamble he grabbed Dilly around the waist and slung her against his shoulder, supporting her with one massive arm. "Now _move!_" he growled.  
"Put me down!" Dilly hissed through tightly gritted teeth. And then –  
"**Stop**."  
The Immies skidded to a dead standstill, the rich echoes of that voice rolling over them.  
Very slowly, they turned around.  
Saruman was standing in the corridor.  
The wizard leaned on his staff, his expression darkly amused. But Tuima's sharp eyes noticed that he blinked rather too often, and was using his staff more as a prop than a threat. Through the haze of terror, she felt a twinge of satisfaction: her sleeping draught had obviously had some effect.  
Next to her, Wlore's knuckles tightened around her weapons. Her body was tense with hatred. Tuima surreptitiously gripped the back of the Eorling's tunic and braced herself.  
"My young friends," Saruman said, his voice rich and smooth. He cast his eyes over them almost sorrowfully. Eredolyn shuddered. "What can you be thinking of, to – " He stopped abruptly, and even the echoes of his voice seemed to be suddenly cut off. He was looking at Ungrath.  
The uruk stumbled back a step, his eyes wide. He brought up his scimitar, slowly, and pointed it at the wizard. "Stay back!" he rasped.  
Saruman smiled.

* * *

Euterpe sighed. "Not that I don't appreciate the music, dear," she told Cebu, "but it is rather… dark… for my mood today. Perhaps something a bit more cheerful?"  
"I don't feel cheerful," Cebu said miserably.  
"You are thinking of your sister again."  
Cebu scowled at the floor. "If I just knew she was all right…"  
"You know that Saruman has nothing but lies at the core of that voice." The Muse sighed. "It really is a shame. What my sisters and I couldn't do with that kind of talent..."  
"You aren't thinking about helping him after all?" Cebu asked sharply.  
"Of course not." Euterpe sounded indignant. "We journeyed to this world to help Lady Coralie, not her greatest enemy."  
Cebu sighed and resumed her aria on the spoon. "I just wish we could get out of here. Then you could go inspire Coralie to write, and I could go find Eicys."  
"Wish granted!" Eicys said just outside her door.  
Cebu shrieked, her spoon clattering on the floor. She ignored it. "Eicys?"  
"Hold on, we're here to get you out." There was a jangling and then a _click.  
_Cebu didn't waste any time: she banged straight through the now-unlocked door, almost squashing Taras, and engulfed her little sister in a huge hug. "_Eicys!_" she cried. Eicys hugged her right back, an enormous grin showing through Cebu's bush of red curls. Taras and Euterpe watched from a little distance, smiling, though Taras' seemed a bit forced. His gray eyes were distant and over-bright, and you could almost see his own little sister reflected in them. He scrubbed the back of one hand over his face and managed a real smile in time to greet Cebu as she resurfaced.  
He needn't have bothered: both Eicys and Cebu were looking a little soggy. But both of them were laughing delightedly, in between sniffles, and they refused to let go of each other. Sporadically one would glance at the other, she would look back, and there would be another squeal and a hug.  
"How did you find – " "Where have you – " "Ohmigosh, I can't believe – " they stammered. There was another bout of hugging.  
Eicys pulled away, wiping mud and paint off her cheeks along with tears. "Cebu, we're getting out of here. Right now. We've got to hurry, the others are waiting…"  
"Wait," Cebu said. She pulled Euterpe forward. "This is Euterpe. She's one of Coralie's Muses!"  
"Actually," the Muse began, but Cebu talked over her.  
"Can she come with us?"  
"Er, of course," said Eicys, giving Euterpe a funny look. "But we have to leave now."  
"I'm afraid I will not be coming," the Muse said.  
Everyone looked at her. "Huh?" said Cebu.  
"My sisters and I have journeyed here to inspire the Lady Coralie," Euterpe said patiently. "The Lady is currently in prison in these very dungeons. My place is with her. So if I might be so bold as to ask for your keys?"  
Eicys held them out dumbly. "But… um, shouldn't we come with you if you're going to rescue Coralie?"  
"I am not here to rescue Coralie," the muse said, tucking the keys into her Grecian-style tunic. "I am here to inspire her. I doubt if I can do it without the aid of my sisters, but I will try." She looked solemn. "I will not see you again. However, if you find the other eight, send them to this place with all speed. The fate of the story depends on it." She smiled sadly and turned in a swirl of robes.  
Several steps down the corridor, she stopped and turned around. "Taras of Dol Amroth," she said.  
Taras looked startled. "Er… Yes?"  
"Know that your sister is safe," she said kindly. "It is not in the story of the Lady Lothiriel that she should be wed to a traitor from the South."  
Taras stumbled back a step, staring at her. "How – how did you…?" he choked.  
Euterpe smiled. "I am a Muse. We concern ourselves with the tales of others. And now there is one tale which needs our great attention. You have a duty laid on you, all of you and your companions. The Muses must be gathered. The story must continue." Her smile was suddenly broad and happy. "And I believe you will weave your own tales the while." She nodded to Cebu. "Farewell."  
And she turned, and was gone.  
There was a slightly stunned silence.  
"Ooo-kaay, that was weird," said Eicys.  
The three of them stood there a moment more, watching the corridor down which Euterpe had left. "Well," Eicys said at last. "That's that. Shall we go?"  
"Eicys, you have no sense of the dramatic," Cebu complained as they turned and hurried back up the corridor.  
Eicys grinned. "That's why you love me, right?"  
Cebu tried to scowl and couldn't. She laughed instead and pulled her sister into a final hug. The two of them tromped happily side by side, babbling merrily to each other – and both of them were rather pointedly absorbed in the conversation, to give Taras time to recover.  
The Gondorian prince was still standing motionless, trying to herd his thoughts back into order. He crushed down hard on the bubble of hope swelling in him. It couldn't be true. He knew nothing about this Euterpe. You can't trust just anyone, he knew. Oh, Valar, he knew.  
Lothiriel…  
Do what he might, the hope swelled ecstatically inside him. _Safe. She's safe. _He wiped his eyes fiercely, swallowed the rest of his tears, and hurried after the two sisters. First things first. They had to get out of here.

* * *

Ungrath's enormous scimitar was still pointed steadily at the wizard, but there was a look of panic in his eyes.  
Saruman, black gaze never leaving his creation, gestured slightly with one hand. Behind him rose a veritable wall of orcs. The wizard was a striking contrast, gleaming like an icy flame in front of his filthy horde. He still wore that cold, mocking smile. "Fools," he murmured. "It was …hopeless from… the beginning." Wizened hands clutched at his staff. "Why do you continue to…" He blinked rapidly. "Continue to… fight… against your… fate?"  
Eredolyn writhed. Tuima had her hands over her ears and was muttering frantically to herself. Wlore screwed up her face in a sort of miserable fury. "Why does he have to draw it out like that?" she hissed, fists clenched.  
"You are to be… pitied," Saruman continued inexorably, his voice a smooth dark tide. It rolled blackly over their minds. "But it was… your own… folly that… drove … you…"  
_Whump.  
_The Immies unstopped their ears cautiously. Everyone stared blankly at the limp white heap on the floor that was the wizard.  
"Um… did that just happen?" Eredolyn asked.  
But as she spoke, a clawlike hand reached out and gripped its fallen staff. Saruman pulled himself to his feet, his eyes glittering with malice from beneath drooping lids. He didn't waste breath on persuasion this time.  
Flinging out his hand, the wizard gasped, "After them!"  
The hovering tide of orcs howled with evil glee and poured around their master like a flood around a boulder, choking the corridor with their foul bodies.  
Ungrath snapped to his senses. "Run!" he roared, and swept the Immies before him, pounding in a desperate race for the exit.  
Dilly clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left red crescent marks against her palms. Blood poured down her arm, seeping between her fingers. _Don't scream_, she ordered herself through a jagged veil of pain. _Don't scream, don't scream, and for heaven's sake don't do anything stupid like –  
_Her shoulder jarred against Ungrath's breastplate, and with a tiny gasp, Dilly's eyes rolled back and she fainted.  
Ungrath looked down at the limp figure in his arms and cursed. Just a few yards ahead was the block of sunlight that was the exit, and at the far end of the corridor the orcs bore down on them in a rushing wave of malice. And somewhere in the tower, somewhere behind that wave, was Eicys…  
The uruk gritted his teeth. He should have known; it was too good to be true. Stupid to hope –  
"Wait!" he called. Eredolyn and Wlore looked around at him. "Here," he said, and thrust the now semi-conscious Dilly at them. "Get outta here," he growled, as they caught their friend awkwardly. They stared at him, bewildered.  
"I said _go_!" he snarled.  
"Come _on,_ Ere!" Tuima cried, tugging at her. "We're almost out!"  
Eredolyn turned and ran, with Ungrath pounding just behind her. And then the sunlight burst over them like a blinding curtain, and they were _out_, and stumbling down the steps with Dilly supported between them…  
Ungrath wasn't there.  
Eredolyn skidded to a stop. "Ungrath!" she yelled. Then she saw him standing at the top of the stairs, framed in the tower doorway. Sunlight blazed over his back, but his face was to the shadow.  
"Ungrath, what are you doing?" Eredolyn screamed. "Come on!"  
Ungrath closed his eyes briefly and turned around to face them. "Yeh know we can't escape," he said wearily. Eredolyn gaped, but Tuima looked away. She had expected as much.  
Ungrath took a deep breath. "Someone has teh stop 'em," he said.  
Eredolyn looked appalled.  
"By yourself?" she asked.  
He regarded her steadily, his dark brown eyes resigned. Eredolyn closed her mouth and nodded slowly.  
"Good luck," she said, and felt completely rotten. The uruk was obviously going to die, and she said _good luck_? But what _could_ you say?  
"You don't have to do this," she blurted. Tuima and Wlore glanced at each other. But Ungrath only laughed mirthlessly.  
"I didn' expect teh get outta this alive, anyhow." The screeches and howls of the orcs drew closer. "Tell…" His mouth tightened. "Tell Eicys g'bye fer me, will yeh?"  
He turned his back on them, planted his feet wide, and raised his scimitar. The girls watched, frozen and breathless. "Go!" Ungrath snarled over his shoulder as the first orc came hurtling towards him. He hacked it almost in two with a single blow, but dozens more were pouring into its place. "_Go!_" he roared, and met the wave of orcs head-on in a cacophany of screams and metal.  
The Immies turned and ran, the sound of fighting just behind drowning out even their hoarse, horrified breathing.

* * *

Saruman watched with cold satisfaction as his creation hacked ruthlessly at the horde of orcs. He was truly an incredible fighter, and the orcs were no great loss. Orcs were always expendable.  
Ungrath was expendable, too – but in rather a different way.  
The wizard gripped his staff, swaying where he stood. He turned to a goblin captain and said, "I want him dead. But keep the body. I will be in my chambers." And, struggling against the inviting press of sleep, Saruman turned his back on his failed experiment and made his way back into the black heart of his tower. 

Ungrath's breath sobbed harshly through his lungs. _Parry, chop, thrust, dodge, stab…_The sound of his butchery was an endless nightmare reel of screams, howls, swarming mottled bodies and glinting weapons, hair and skin and claws and fangs and the scarlet bursts of pain exploding in his skull. His left arm hung uselessly; his armor was as tattered as old rags.  
Crunch of bone and clang of metal, death scream, war cry, rasp of desperate breath. Rivers of warm black blood: oily, slippery, corrosive, copper-smelling. Hot, filthy, stinging, _tired_… Hack, thrust, pull free, whirl, chop, slash – No breath for screaming, but he was screaming anyway, or maybe it was the others… screaming  
_Eicys. Come soon…  
_The orcs were hanging back now, frightened. Almost half of them had been killed. _Still so many_…  
Another wave of fighters broke over him, and thought was drowned in the craze of battle. The shrieks of the dying and wounded echoed from the walls, battering at his ears; white flames of agony lanced across his vision at each new wound. The wave crested, broke, scattered in screaming pieces around his feet. Ungrath staggered. A lone orc screeched with delight and brought up his sword; Ungrath swept it aside and killed him in one brutal movement. He pulled himself upright and hefted his scimitar, glaring at the much lessened crowd of orcs.  
They hesitated, then another group of them attacked, but this one was smaller, and by the time the last orc – the captain – fell, the others had fled. Ungrath swayed as he looked dazedly across the empty hall…  
Not quite empty. "Eicys!" he cried hoarsely, and swayed again.  
"Ungrath!" She was running towards him. "Ungrath – no!"  
Because the pain that he had managed to ignore so far rushed through him, and with a low cry, Ungrath's legs finally folded and he collapsed. "No!" Eicys cried, and she was kneeling at his side, wrenching off her helmet. Gold hair cascaded loose past her shoulders. "Ungrath!"  
Her hands fluttered frantically over his rent breastplate, trying to stop the flow of blood. "What happened?" she asked. "Where's the others?"  
"Out," he rasped. "I was holdin' it for yeh…" He stopped, gasping for breath. Black orc-blood pulsed from his wounds, drenching Eicys' hands to the wrists. She pulled them back, horrified at the inky liquid.  
"Oh, Ungrath…"  
He closed his eyes; he didn't want to see the disgust cross her face. But he felt her hands on him again, tugging at his shoulder. He winced and opened his eyes, surprised at the effort it took. She was trying to get his breastplate off, fumbling desperately with the straps. "Taras, help me!"  
Taras stepped forward, hesitated, then knelt swiftly next to Eicys. He pulled the battered metal off, and Ungrath's body arched with agony. Taras looked at the gashes covering the orc's torso, glanced up at Eicys, and shook his head. He'd been in battles before; he knew what wounds like that meant. This orc was good as dead.  
She ignored him and strained to lift her friend. "Come on!" she almost screamed. "Help me – we've got to get him outside!"  
"Eicys…" Cebu said carefully.  
"No!" Eicys cried, but Ungrath caught her hand.  
"S' all right," he gasped. "Don' matter now. I'm done." His big chest heaved roughly. "Eicys…"  
"No," she moaned. Taras stood up and backed away respectfully. "No!" she screamed after him, then whirled back to Ungrath. "You'll be fine," she said fiercely, holding his hand like a lifeline.  
He shook his head, and Eicys felt her heart constrict. The orc's dark brown eyes were glassy with pain, but his ugly face twisted into a reassuring smile. Eicys burst into tears.  
Ungrath blinked slowly, the breath catching ragged and bloody in his throat. "Eicys," he managed. He lifted one heavy claw and finally, finally, let himself touch her face, trace the dirty tracks of tears on her cheeks. "Don' cry." She looked so beautiful with her gold hair tumbled around her face, and her familiar blue eyes bright with tears. "Don' cry," he murmured again.  
Eicys valiantly smudged tears out of her eyes but they still poured down her cheeks, sliding painfully along her throat. "Why did you do it?" she sobbed.  
"Yer my friend," he said simply. "Th' on'y one who…" He doubled up with coughing: it was a horrible rattling sound. A trace of blood blackened his mouth. "I'll miss yeh, Eicys," he said, his bright brown eyes already clouding over. He smiled faintly. "My friend." Then he closed his eyes with a sigh, and his hand fell limp, and Ungrath was gone.  
"No!" Eicys screamed. "Ungrath – no!" She shook him desperately, and the big ugly head lolled on her arm. Her chest and arms were soaked with black blood; she shuddered, shuddered again, and then buried her face against his chest and shook with sobs.


	25. After

_**Muse Quest  
****CHAPTER 25: After  
**__Eredolyn began to realize, with a nasty sinking feeling in her stomach, that after all the horror of escaping Orthanc, none of them had given much thought to the problem of escaping Isengard.

* * *

_

Taras and Cebu eventually got Eicys away from Ungrath's body and down the stairs. On the last step Cebu stopped, and let her little sister slump against her shoulder, shuddering with sobs. The redhead looked sadly over Eicys' head at the dark hump near Orthanc's door: the bloodstained heap of corpses, with Ungrath among them. She shivered, and hugged her sister closer. Taras watched them quietly, his grey eyes sober.  
"Come," he said at last. "We have to go."  
Eicys choked down tears and nodded. Cebu squeezed her hand, pulling her gently after Taras. Eicys trailed behind, throwing one last, miserable look over her shoulder as she went. Then she turned away again and hurried blindly after the others, tears burning in her throat and eyes.  
Behind her, the tower of Orthanc loomed black against the dingy sky, its horned head tearing a hole in the reek of smoke. A single ray of sunlight stabbed down, gleamed for a moment on the scattered, huddled bodies, and then slowly faded, and died.

* * *

Dilly stumbled along between her three friends. Her good arm was around Eredolyn's shoulders, and Wlore grimly supported her other side, ignoring the scarlet stains spreading over them both. Dilly had her lips pressed together so tightly that they were completely white, and her dark eyes looked huge and bruised in her pinched face. Tuima was riffling frantically through her pack, hoping for some sort of medical kit. Blood dripped gently down her arm and smeared across the supplies inside, and still the Elf's fingers scrabbled through the contents of her pack again and again, with a sort of mindless desperation.  
Eredolyn appeared to be in shock: she stared distractedly between her friend and the path ahead, horrified and bewildered. _But it's a story!_ her mind kept insisting. _This isn't supposed to happen to us! It's just a story!  
_"How are we going to get out?" Wlore said abruptly, breaking into her thoughts.  
"We need to wait for the others," Tuima muttered, still combing through her pack.  
"We need to stay alive," Wlore snapped. "Ungrath will hold the orcs for a while, but…"  
There was a nasty silence, full of guilt and fear.  
"We have to stop," Eredolyn said. "Look at Dilly, she can't keep going…"  
"I'm okay," Dilly hissed through clenched teeth.  
"You keep saying that! You are _not_!" cried Eredolyn.  
"'m fine," she gasped again.  
"We have to get out of Isengard," Wlore repeated.  
"What about the others?"  
"We have to stop _now!_"  
"If we're still here when the sun sets we're as good as dead – "  
"Tell us how to get out then! There's only one gate! Do you know how many orcs – "  
" – Blood everywhere, Ungrath's probably dead and Dilly's hurt and we don't know what happened to the others – "  
"They couldn't have escaped, there were all those orcs – "  
"Ungrath – "  
" – no one could've survived that – "  
"What about Eicys and the others, are you saying that –  
"This isn't supposed to happen, she's bleeding everywhere – "  
"I'm _okay_, Ered'lyn!"  
" – if I could just find some herbs… and water… we could tear up clothes for – "  
" – We have to get out of here!"  
The Immies stood glaring at each other for a second. Then, as if in counterpoint to the argument, Dilly's eyes rolled back and, with a slowness that would have been comic if it weren't so awful, she sagged against Eredolyn and slid to the ground. Eredolyn caught her just in time, with a strangled, helpless yell.  
This seemed to finally bring Tuima to her senses. "Look," she snapped, falling back on the aloof, in-control façade that terror always brought out in her. "We will all go to the edge of the Ring of Isengard and wait. I'll see what I can do for Dilly while the two of you keep an eye out for our friends. If no one comes after an hour… well, we will make our plans from there. All right?" She helped Eredolyn lift Dilly, and Wlore hurried to help. The three of them stumbled awkwardly as they made their way towards the enormous curving black wall that circled the wizard's home.  
Looking up as it loomed higher and higher above her heads, Eredolyn began to realize, with a nasty sinking feeling in her stomach, that after all the horror of escaping Orthanc, none of them had given much thought to the problem of escaping Isengard. 

When they finally reached the smooth black wall, the three girls laid their unconscious friend on the ground and sat back against the stone, panting a little. Eredolyn had privately decided that any movie whose characters ran long distances immediately after fighting was completely, hugely, appallingly unrealistic – even if that movie _was_ "Lord of the Rings". Three minutes of fighting for your life was more draining than three hours of anything else, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, Eredolyn was keeping herself awake wholly by dint of frantic worrying. There was no sign of their friends, and none of them had the faintest idea how they were going to escape: they had seen Isengard's gate from a distance, and it was not the kind of distance that they wanted shortened. The walls were so thick that the entryway was a sort of tunnel, blocked by massive doors and hordes of orcs. One thing was certain – they were not going to get out that way.  
Unfortunately, as Wlore pointed out, there wasn't any_ other_ way.  
To make matters worse, Dilly had been unconscious for a long time now, and she was still bleeding horribly. Eredolyn was amazed that people even _had_ that much blood in them. She hovered nervously over Tuima as the Elf tore a spare cloak into strips, grimacing at the filthy material and asked worried questions.  
Finally Tuima turned around and practically roared at her to go away: she had not quite forgiven Eredolyn for their fight several days ago, and she was in no mood to be reasonable about it at the moment, stuck here without even the crudest of healing supplies and a friend lying so bonelessly quiet on the ground. The Elf was, quite honestly, frightened out of her wits. She had never even _thought_ about death before…  
Wlore was prowling nervously along the wall, fiddling with her knives and keeping an eye out for sentries. Every once in a while she would hiss a warning at the others and they would freeze, silent and watchful, until the coast was clear again.  
It was their very bad luck that Dilly woke up just as a sentry passed overhead.  
She opened her eyes and stared fuzzily at Tuima. "Wh'r'you?" she mumbled.  
"Ssh, Dilly – it's me, Tuima."  
"Tha's'a funny n'm," Dilly commented in an alarmingly loud voice. She tried to sit up. "Why won' m'armmmmove?" she asked, swaying.  
"Sshh!" hissed Wlore.  
"Don' wanna," Dilly slurred. "My arm! 'S broken. Won' work." As Wlore shushed frantically, Tuima peered into Dilly's eyes. The pupils were huge and unfocused. Dilly blinked slowly, and said, as though from very far away, "Hurts." Tuima nodded, and tried to push Dilly back onto the cloak they had spread for her.  
"'S all blood," Dilly said, fighting her. "Hurts!"  
"Dilly, ssh!"  
"No!" said Dilly.  
The sentry stopped walking, turned around, and looked over the parapet at them.  
Dilly peered dizzily up into his ugly face. "I don' like d'ct'rs!" she announced to the world at large, and slid quietly back into unconsciousness.  
There was a moment's horrified pause, then a blur of motion from Wlore. A look of shock and a large stone reached the sentry's face simultaneously.  
_Thwock!  
_"Nice shot," Tuima commented absently as the orc crumpled. Wlore grinned and caught the rock as it fell.  
Eredolyn ignored them both, crouching anxiously over her friend. "Dilly? Dilly, are you okay?"  
Dilly broke the surface of consciousness long enough to mutter, "'M f'n. Whr's p'lyspo – polisp – p'lysporininin? Anna b'nd'd…"  
"What did she say?" Wlore asked.  
"She wants polysporin," Eredolyn said. "And… a band-aid."  
"I see," said Wlore, who didn't.  
"She's in shock," said Tuima, sounding coolly professional. She wanted to cry, she wanted to panic, she wanted to go _home_…  
"Is she going to be okay?" Eredolyn asked.  
Tuima hesitated a fraction of a second too long. "She will be fine," she said.  
"Tell me the truth," Eredolyn snapped, sounding as though the truth was, in fact, the last thing she wanted to hear.  
Tuima's fingers hesitated as she pressed a new strip of fabric to Dilly's wound.  
"Tuima!"  
The Elf looked miserable. "I don't think she'll die…"  
There was an ugly silence. "Don't think…?" Eredolyn echoed numbly.  
"The bleeding is slowing," Tuima interrupted hastily. "But she has lost a great deal already. Her collarbone is broken, and the wound is deep and jagged." She looked up from under a curtain of snarled, matted hair. "We have to get her out of here," she said. "If we could reach Fangorn there would be clean water, and herbs…"  
"Slight problem," Wlore said. "Fangorn's on the other side of _this_." She kicked the gleaming black wall. _Tunngg…  
_The Immies paused.  
Tuima looked narrowly at the wall. "…Do that again."  
Wlore, whose impatience and frustration had been mounting steadily since the fight, was only too happy to oblige. _TUNNGG…  
_"It sounds hollow!" Eredolyn said, bewildered.  
Tuima stared unseeing at the wall. "Valar, I've been so _stupid!_" she exclaimed. "I remember my uncle talking about this: he said it was so like Saruman, so devious, always seeking complications… He said it was a foolish idea, even if it did make ambushes easier – "  
"Tuima!" snapped Wlore. "What are you talking about?"  
"The warg pens!"  
Eredolyn's bewildered expression deepened, but Wlore gave Tuima a deeply wary look. "What about them?"  
"Saruman has sent out wargs often of late, and they are almost always used as a surprise attack. That means they do not use the main gate. That means there is another way out! My uncle was saying how foolish this was, because Isengard is otherwise impregnable..."  
"Oh, really?" Eredolyn smirked quietly. "Man, I can't _wait_ until the Ents come."  
Wlore looked at her curiously, and Eredolyn, feeling that it would be stupid to give away too much of the storyline to actual inhabitants of  
Middle-earth, busied herself fussing over Dilly again.  
"I was _saying_," Tuima resumed, shouldering Eredolyn aside a little more impatiently than was strictly necessary, "that the wargs are most like stabled inside the walls themselves, to allow for quick ambushes. If we can find a way into the wall…"  
Wlore looked glum. "I hate wargs," she muttered. "Stupid animals never realize when they've been killed."  
"You've killed wargs before?" Eredolyn asked, looking impressed.  
"They were trying to attack our stable," Wlore said fiercely. "Like I said, stupid animals."  
Eredolyn silently agreed. Those who attacked an Eorling's horse tended to find the (very brief) remainder of their lives to be full of… incident.  
"So, we have a plan," Wlore said. "Now what?"  
"I'll stay with Dilly," Tuima said wearily. "You two will have to try to find the exit – or entrance, as it may happen."  
Eredolyn made a face and pulled herself upright, ignoring her muscles' violent protests. She pretended not to notice Wlore testing the sharpness of her blade on a strand of her own pale hair, and looking disappointed. "Come on, then," she sighed.  
Wlore looked up. "We should probably split up, don't you think?"  
"Oh," said Eredolyn. "Yeah, probably." _Stupid practical warrior-types_, she thought. Eredolyn considered herself to be in pretty good shape, what with martial arts and all, but right now she would kill – okay, argue incoherently – for a bath and a soft bed. While Wlore looked as though she could eagerly take on an uruk-hai. Eredolyn sighed again and stumbled off along the wall, throwing a few unhappy glances over her shoulder as she went.  
She was not at all reassured to see that Tuima was slumped against the wall next to Dilly, staring at nothing and looking as though she wanted to cry.

* * *

He felt… strange. Warm. A weird rushing sensation spread rhythmically through his body, pulsing through his limbs, warming, quickening… Hot life pushed against his skin, faint at first, then stronger, until every hair stood on end. He moaned and stiffened, surprised that he could. The blood flooded his muscles and seared against his injuries.  
He gasped and opened his eyes, not seeing anything but feeling the strange life in him weave itself across his wounds, binding and healing. Taking a deep breath, he felt an answering surge of energy and sat up abruptly. His surrounding slid dizzyingly in and out of focus; the stench of blood was heavy in the air.  
_Where am I?  
_He looked down and flinched. Tentative memories came trickling back at the sight of the blood and bodies surrounding him, and he recoiled, feeling contaminated.  
He scrubbed one hand across his eyes and jumped: his vambraces clanked loosely and the feel of his hand was strange. He examined it. It was black and filthy with congealing blood, but it looked thinner and smaller than he remembered.  
Even with the odd new strength pulsing through him, he felt desperately weak; he staggered clumsily to his feet and his armor clanked again. There was a strangled cry, and he looked up, his vision weaving and blurring in all directions.  
Except for one point. There was a girl, staring at him. Her face was white under its layer of grime, and her bright blue eyes were round with shock and terror.  
He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again; it made his head spin. Why was she afraid? It was, somehow, terribly important that this girl not be upset or sad, ever, ever. He took a staggering step forward and collapsed again. Lines of pain crisscrossed his body. He stayed on hands and knees, panting, gathering his breath –  
"Eicys," he gasped. He raised his head, pulled himself to his feet. "Eicys!"  
And Eicys wrenched free of her companions, and sprinted toward the tower, and threw herself into Ungrath's arms. 


	26. Reunions

**_Muse Quest  
Chapter 26: Reunions_**  
_Being the tale of five fanatics, their companions, their adventures, and their angst._

_

* * *

_A stunned silence is customary at a moment like this. Eicys threw tradition to the winds and promptly hurled herself back up the stairs and into Ungrath's arms.  
He barely caught her in time. She clung to him fiercely, choking on sobs of relief, and for a moment he simply stood there, holding on to her in a sort of shock and trying to pull himself together.  
Eicys was crying incoherently into his chest, hugging him as though she was afraid he would disappear; Ungrath swallowed and then, tentatively, hugged her back. And instead of stiffening or pulling away, she wound her fingers into his bloody tunic and leaned her head against him, her sobs slowly dying into little hiccuping gasps of bewilderment and happiness and exhaustion.  
And then Ungrath snatched her up off the ground into a fierce, whirling embrace, and Eicys threw her arms around his neck, and tipped back her head until her tangled, blood-streaked hair streamed out behind, and laughed and sobbed until she could hardly breathe.  
He stopped abruptly, coming to himself. He set her down very carefully and backed away, looking mortified. "Sorry," he muttered at the ground. Eicys gave a slightly hysterical laugh, wiped her eyes shakily, and wrapped her arms around him again.  
"You're not dead," she whispered. "Oh, Ungrath, I thought you – I thought…"  
"Me, too," he said dazedly.  
"What happened?"  
"I – I don' know… somethin' about that experiment…" He shivered and looked down at Eicys, who had buried her face in his tunic again, ignoring the black gore that soaked them both. When she turned her face up to him, her tears had left streaks through the layer of blood and grime, but her bright blue eyes were smiling at him ecstatically. "I can't believe it," she said. A frown clouded her eyes. "You – you look so different… For a minute I thought… I mean, is it really you? You were… you…"  
She reached up gingerly and touched his face; he didn't seem so tall right now, somehow. A thin black line was all that remained of a long gash over one eye: it gave him a faintly quizzical look on top of the nervous, cornered one he already wore. She couldn't seem to pin it down: _something_ was different… But the eyes were the same; there was no mistaking those eyes. It was Ungrath, without a doubt.  
"You're going to have a scar," she said irrelevantly.  
He laughed, an awkward, uneasy sound. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Ungrath broke off first, and examined the ground.  
Eicys smudged a few more persistent tears out of her eyes, looked up at her friend, and then said, "Oh, for heaven's sake!" and hugged him again.  
Ungrath leaned back, stiff and startled. After a moment he lowered his arms, and patted her gingerly on the back. "I'm sorry," Eicys said incoherently into his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm such a mess, but… Ungrath – oh, I thought you were dead, and it was all my fault for not coming sooner…"  
"No!" he interrupted fiercely. "You'd've been killed." Eicys looked up at him, and he flushed. "Tha's diff'rent," he told her.  
"No it isn't," Eicys said quietly. "Not at all." She sighed exhaustedly, and burrowed further into his tunic, which seemed oddly too big for him.  
It was very difficult to think clearly with her like that…  
"Ungrath…" she grinned suddenly, her chin poking into his chest as she peered up at him again. "Are you _blushing_?" Ungrath took a hasty step backwards.  
"No," he said stiffly, his ears flaming.  
Eicys' laugh trailed off into a strange stare. "You're blushing red!" This was very odd; she'd seen Ungrath embarassed before, and it meant he turned a weird dark grey color, because of his orkish blood.  
Ungrath touched his face with one hand, looking bewildered and increasingly embarassed. Then –  
He gasped and doubled over, both hands now covering his face protectively. "Ungrath?" Eicys cried. "Ungrath!"  
But it was only a moment before her friend straightened up, a bit dizzily, and slowly pulled his hands away. Eicys choked, stumbling back a step.  
"_Ungrath?"_  
He blinked a few times. "What was that?" he muttered, still looking very unsteady.  
Eicys was still gaping at him. "Are you… Are you okay?" she ventured.  
Ungrath swayed. "I'm fine," he growled. He looked surprised, and nervous. "That _hurt."_  
She stretched out a hand, tentatively. "What happened? You looked – You still look different…"  
He just shook his head. "I don' know," he said stubbornly. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, stopped, and stared at it. Spreading his fingers, he turned it over and over cautiously before bringing the other one up to stare at it as well. "That… tha's not…"  
He saw Eicys watching him anxiously, and dropped both hands. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.  
"Um," he said. "Yes." He looked down at his hands again and muttered inaudibly, "Sharkey's ungrath…"  
Eicys didn't hear. It was finally sinking in: they'd done it, they'd escaped – and Ungrath was alive. She thought she might pull a complete Mary-Sue and lapse into girly hysterics from the huge tangled mess of emotions that had been ripping at her all day. Instead she seized her friend's hand, barely noticing how small and strange it felt in her own, and tugged him toward the stairs.  
"Come on," she said, beaming like a hundred sunrises. "Let's get out of here."  
They stopped in front of Taras and Cebu, neither of whom had significantly altered position from the original frozen astonishment. Cebu's mouth was hanging open slightly, and Taras had the look of a man recently hit over the head by something very heavy.  
"Wha…?" Cebu managed after a while.  
"Cebu," Eicys said, smiling hugely, "I'd like you to meet Ungrath. Ungrath, this is my sister Cebu."  
It was difficult to say who appeared to be more alarmed by this introduction. "Um… Hi," Cebu said at last. Ungrath jerked his head awkwardly.  
"And you already know Taras," Eicys said blithely.  
Ungrath stiffened. He glared at Taras, who, after a startled moment, glared right back, his sea-grey eyes narrowing to slits. One hand strayed toward his sword hilt. Ungrath's fangs glinted as a low growl built in his chest.  
Eicys and her sister shared a frozen, nervous moment, staring between the two.  
"Um…" said Cebu nervously. "Taras?"  
Taras didn't look away. "What?" he asked shortly.  
"Um, we should probably be, uh, going…" she said. Eicys nodded furious agreement and elbowed Ungrath, badly bruising herself on his armor. He looked down at her and she was taken aback for a moment: this Ungrath was all fangs and steel and… and orc. Then he seemed to shrink, and he looked abashed and rather flustered at her nervousness. He was blushing red again. Eicys thought this must be important somehow, but couldn't quite…  
"That's not – him," Taras said suspiciously, interrupting her thoughts.  
Eicys looked startled. "What?"  
"It doesn't look like him," Taras insisted. _And he was dead! I saw – Valar, I swear he was dead_…  
Eicys glanced at Ungrath; he shifted uncomfortably, his tattered armor clanking and sliding as though it were much too large. "It's him," she said, and she couldn't stop herself smiling.  
"How do you know?" Taras demanded. "What happened back there?"  
"Who cares?" said Eicys in honest bewilderment. "It's _him."_  
"Right," muttered Taras. "I feel much better now."  
Eicys glared. Ungrath loomed behind her like a massive shadow, his growl the audible equivalent of a shortening fuse.  
"Well!" said Cebu with desperate cheerfulness. "Well, we should probably get going about now, don't you think? We have to catch up to the others!"  
Taras seemed to come partially back to the present. "Yes," he said. "The others. Yes. Let's go." But he kept his hand on his sword hilt as they moved off.

* * *

It was Wlore who found the entrance to the warg-stables. Tuima promptly sent her off again to find Eredolyn, and set about securing Dilly's bandages so that she could be moved. The dark-haired girl kept swimming groggily to the surface of consciousness long enough to perplex Tuima with hazy demands for "antispepeptipsic" and to insist that she didn't want to go to the hospital. It was a thoroughly bewildered Elf who helped her friends carry Dilly the half-mile or so to the stable entrance: a small, dark opening concealed behind the bulge of a watch tower, out of which billowed a reek strong enough to wade through.  
"Ugh," Eredolyn commented.  
"It's the only way," Tuima told her, and pulled Dilly after her into the tunnel mouth.  
"Hey wait!" Eredolyn said. "What are you doing?"  
If it had not been thoroughly beneath her dignity and also unheard-of in her culture, the Elf would almost certainly have said, "Duh." As it was, she managed to convey a similar sentiment with one pointedly arched eyebrow.  
"Well, yes, okay I know," Eredolyn said hastily. "But what about the others?"  
Tuima looked grim. "It's been an hour."  
"Well… yeah, but…"  
"At this point, the most important thing is getting out of here alive. If they're coming, they'll be able to follow our tracks. Taras probably has some experience."  
"They won't be coming," Wlore said unhappily, rubbing a thumb along her dirk. There was a faint edge in her voice: the sort of practical cynicism that is the lot of all those who live daily with death.  
"They're coming," Eredolyn said stubbornly. "We should wait a little longer."  
"Didn't you see those orcs?" demanded Wlore, looking up fiercely. "They're not coming. They're probably dead, and if we don't get out of here, we will be too."  
"They're not dead!" Eredolyn insisted a little wildly. "They _are_ coming,"  
"No, they're not," Wlore snapped.  
Tuima pointed. "Yes, they are," she said.

* * *

Eicys had finally put her foot down, and Ungrath was now, very awkwardly and with many muttered protests, walking with his hand on her shoulder to keep himself from falling. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but he seemed dazed, and unusually clumsy. Eicys was reminded of one of her sisters during a particularly violent growth spurt, except Ungrath seemed rather smaller than before, instead of larger. His armor kept slipping, and his tattered old tunic hung loosely on his shoulders. And every once in a while he would stop, with a little hiss of pain, and double over until he could walk again.  
He kept looking at his hands.  
"Are you all right?" Eicys asked him worriedly for the umpteenth time.  
"I'm _fine,_" he growled distractedly. "Ah!" He staggered, his fingers tightening on Eicys' shoulder as his knees threatened to give way. Through the scarlet mist of pain, the memories flashed relentlessly in front of his eyes: a dark room, the bitter smell of herbs and the worse stink of fear, Saruman's cold pale smile…and, surfacing like a hazy dream, the scene of crude stone huts in the bright sunlight…  
"Look!" Taras said suddenly, as the pain dissipated and Ungrath tried to pull himself together. "Isn't that them?"

* * *

Eredolyn shaded her eyes and peered impatiently across the barren Ring of Isengard. "Where? Where?"  
Tuima pointed again. "Look, you can see Cebu's hair from here! And there's Eicys, and Taras, and…" She blinked. "Impossible," she whispered.  
There was a long pause before Eredolyn regained control of her hanging lower jaw enough to stammer, "Is that… Ungrath?"  
"Impossible," Wlore echoed. "No one could have survived that…" 

The three of them were still gaping slightly when their friends stopped in front of them. Then: "Cebu!" Eredolyn cried happily. "Eicys!" And everyone dissolved into a babble of relieved hugs, inquiries, and introductions. Tuima slipped back into the tunnel almost immediately, with a jerk of her head to Wlore to let her know where she was going, and bent over Dilly again in the gloom.  
Everyone was hovering, with awkward astonishment, around a very embarassed Ungrath. Wlore's warrior side was at the front, and she was gazing at him with what might have been open admiration had he not been an orc. Eredolyn kept peering at him sideways, trying to figure out what was so different about him, and Eicys stuck close to his side the whole time, beaming as though she were showing him off.  
The whole time, Taras hadn't spoken, or even moved. He looked unnaturally pale in the smoky light of Isengard. At the first break in the conversation, he asked, so quietly that they almost didn't hear, "Where's Dilly?"  
There was a frozen pause. Eredolyn and Wlore looked at each other, and seemed to deflate. "She – she's with Tuima," said Wlore. "Inside." She took a few steps towards the little door and pointed. Taras glanced at Eredolyn's stricken expression, then strode forward and ducked inside the tunnel mouth.  
In the sudden gloom he could barely make out Tuima's pale face looking up at him. She rubbed a weary hand across her face, leaving sticky red smears, and then looked down again. Taras stared at her a moment before his gaze followed hers unwillingly to the limp form huddled against the tunnel wall, almost hidden from sight.  
He went very, very still.  
There was no noise: the Immies outside had come to stand by the door, looking in sober silence between the unconscious girl on the ground and the young Gondorian prince, who stood staring at Dilly, utterly unmoving.  
Finally he asked, as though from very far away: "What happened?"  
"An uruk," Tuima whispered. There was a pause in which no one looked at Ungrath, but Taras' hands tightened slowly into fists.  
"Where?" he asked, his voice terrifyingly calm.  
"In the tow—" Eredolyn began, but Wlore, who knew what he meant, said quietly, "Eredolyn got him."  
Taras' eyes flickered to Eredolyn for the briefest second, then, irresistibly, turned back to Dilly.  
"She'll be all right," said Tuima in a rather high voice, and hoped desperately that this was true. Taras was beginning to scare her. "We just need to get out of here. If we can make it to Fangorn I might be able to…" She pressed a new bandage against the bloody mess on Dilly's shoulder, and Dilly gasped faintly without waking.  
Taras still didn't move, but a terrible intensity grew in his grey eyes, like the hush on the horizon just before a storm. Every line of him was taut and fierce; the pale light streaming through the doorway etched shadows into his lean form. Even Ungrath looked nervous.  
"How do we get out?" Taras asked. His voice was still flat and calm. Eicys almost wished he would shout.  
"We… we are not certain – yet," said Tuima, her fingers trembling as she tore another strip of bandage. "We know that there are wargs stabled inside Isengard's walls, and that they do not leave through the main gate. We will try to get out through whichever exits they use."  
The barest jerk of his head indicated that Taras had heard. "Let's go then," he said, and took a long stride forward to kneel by Dilly. He slid his arms under her carefully and levered her up against his chest. Her head nodded limply, and dark hair slid across her face to spill in a thick tangled sheet across Taras' arm. Blood seeped from beneath the crude bandage to trickle darkly into the hollow of her throat. Taras stood up carefully, and jerked his head at the others, his eyes still smoldering.  
The Immies hanging back in the doorway glanced at each other, then one by one they ducked after him into the clinging darkness of the tunnel.  
Somewhere in the gloom ahead, they could hear the barking snarl of wargs…


	27. Woes, Wargs, and Wlore

_**Muse Quest  
Chapter 27: Woes, Wargs, and Wlore**_

DISCLAIMER: (a)Alas, the Immies do not own Middle Earth. Cruel, cruel fate.  
(b)This chapter is very different from the original Thread-scene from theonering(dot)com, and we would like to reassure everyone that Linsul has not been cut! She will make a quite dramatic appearance a few chapters hence.  
(c) Much bowing and waving of hats to Terry Pratchett, the latchet of whose exploding seven-league boots I am not worthy to unloose, for a number of pirated lines. If anyone can spot them they get extra chocolate.  
On with the show.

_Even though these mounts are a little... different... Wlore is confident there won't be any problems at all. No really bloody ones, at least. Definitely nothing fatal, anyway. Um._

_

* * *

_Taras had fallen behind a bit, bowing to Tuima's Elven eyesight to guide them through the gloom. Nobody spoke: everyone was tense and jumpy. When Ungrath stumbled slightly, catching himself on the wall, all the Immies whipped around so quickly that the orc was almost skewered by three different weapons. "Sorry," he muttered, his voice echoing harshly off the obsidian walls  
Tuima pressed her lips together and crept on through the blackness. Ungrath followed, still wincing a bit from the sudden pain that had flashed through him. This was the fifth time so far… He caught at a loose shoulder-plate that was making a bid for freedom, and shoved it irritably back into place. Nothing seemed to fit him anymore.  
The noise and the stench were increasing: Cebu wrinkled her nose, wondering whether a smell alone was capable of dissolving teeth. This one seemed to be making a valiant attempt at it. Tarry smoke mixed with the reek of orcs and wargs, laced with the smell of blood and dirt and sweat from the Immies themselves.  
_Gross_, the redhead thought, pulling a face in the darkness and planning a week-long shower when she got home, involving several bottles of shampoo, two or three tubes of toothpaste, and whole gallons of conditioner. Cebu's flaming-red curls were unruly at the best of times, but right now they seemed to have developed a life of their own, and stood out around her head like… like an alive, red, curly thing. Cebu sighed – her creativity was already stretched to the limits populating the shadows with orcs and uruks and wargs and crebain and wizards and – _Look_, she told her imagination firmly, _If this is how you're going to behave, I won't bring you again.  
_The Immies walked on, Tuima's torch sputtering and smoking in the lead. And then suddenly it wasn't. The Elf had dropped it quietly on the floor and stamped out the flame. "Get back!" she hissed at the others as the fire disappeared. "Orcs!"  
Fumbling and tripping in the blackness, the Immies hurried toward a side passage several feet back. They huddled together against a wall, listening as the jeering voices of the orcs came closer, and closer… Cebu heard the faintest of movements beside her and just barely managed to make out Taras, very carefully laying Dilly on the floor.  
Then he drew his sword, and stepped out into the corridor.  
What happened next was almost too quick to follow. Taras' blade, an arc of silver and red in the orcs' torchlight, slashed through the first two in rapid succession, whipped free of a third which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and then blurred into near-invisibility as he whirled and slammed it hilt-deep into the orc rushing up behind him.  
The sound of the last orc sliding to the floor was very loud in the shocked silence. Cebu looked rather ill. Taras bent down, wiped his blade on an orc, resheathed it, and walked back to Dilly. He picked her up gently. Then he turned around without looking at anyone, flipped an orc out of the way with his toe, and kept walking down the way they had been headed.  
The Immies gaped after him.  
"He's very good, isn't he?" Eicys managed after a bit. There was a chorus of slightly stunned nods. Tuima picked up the orcs' fallen torch, looked around at the others, and then started meekly after Taras. The Immies followed, but they tended to give the Gondorian a rather wide berth after that-All except for Cebu, who, after she was finally confident that she would not be sick if she opened her mouth again, sidled up to him and demanded in a whisper, "How did you do that?"  
He looked around at her and shrugged. "There is not much to do in a cell," he said. "I practice a lot." His voice was the same flat, hard grey as his eyes. He shifted his hold on Dilly, very carefully, and walked on.  
"Oh," said Cebu. She hurried back to walk with her sister, and did not say anything else for a long while. But as they walked, the smell and sound of the warg-pens was growing, until at last the tunnel opened up into a large room. The left-hand wall and ceiling were the same, but on their right, there was a sheer drop into a smoky, reeking pit that echoed with the wolfish baying of the orcs' mounts.  
Cebu noticed that the blonde girl – Wlore, that was her name – had let out a little sigh when the tunnel opened, and her shoulders had sagged slightly with relief. Cebu couldn't know it, but the Eorling's greatest fear – practically her _only_ fear – was of enclosed spaces. It was probably a racial characteristic in any case, but for Wlore it had been honed to a stark, choking horror by her lengthy stretches in Saruman's dungeons. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. This place didn't just stink, it – it _fugged_. You could probably cut cubes out of the air and sell them for cheap building material.  
"So," said Wlore, in between gags. "Now what?"  
"Er," said Tuima, holding the torch aloft. "It's got to be around here somewhere."  
"Probably not," Eicys said. "If there was an outlet to fresh air around here, it wouldn't smell this bad."  
"Hah," said Wlore. "These are _wargs_ we're talking about."  
"We had better just stay on this path, then," Tuima said uncertainly.  
"No," said Eredolyn, who had taken several strides ahead. "It just ends in a wall up here, look."  
The Immies eyed the dead end unhappily. "So where do we go?" Cebu asked.  
Ungrath raised his head, a dazed, sick look lingering in his eyes. "Down," he grunted, and dropped his head again.  
"Down?" Cebu echoed, peering over the edge. "Uh… how?"  
"There's ladders," he said.  
"And then where do we go?" asked Tuima.  
Ungrath shrugged, and his shoulder plate slid down around his elbow. "Dunno," he growled, pushing the loose armor back into place. "Never ridden." He leaned against the wall for support, looking pale. "I s'pose the wargs'd know, though," he finished, and closed his eyes.  
"Oh, yes, why don't we just ask them then?" Wlore said caustically.  
Eredolyn blinked. "Hey… why don't we?" Wlore gave her a Look. "No, I'm serious!" said Eredolyn. "Wargs have a language, don't they? It was in _The Hobbit_."  
"_What_ was in a hobbit?" Tuima asked, sounding apprehensive.  
"Um… no, that's not what I… um. But they do have a language, right?" Tuima nodded. "Well then!" Eredolyn said triumphantly.  
Eicys looked skeptical. "But does anyone here actually _speak_ warg?"  
The Immies looked at each other. Tuima looked at the floor. The others noticed this, and stared. "…You speak warg?" Cebu asked. "Really?"  
"A few words," Tuima muttered.  
"So can you ask them the way out?"  
The Elf looked more awkward than they'd ever seen her. "Er… no. I, um, er. Just learned the, er, insults. Er."  
Eredolyn looked intrigued. "Really? Like what?"  
"This is hardly the time," Tuima said stiffly.  
"So what do we do then?" Eicys asked.  
"Well," Wlore said slowly, with a touch of evil glee. "I guess we ought to …ask… the wargs."  
"What?" asked Cebu.  
"You can all ride, right?" asked Wlore, already swinging herself over the edge of the drop onto a rickety ladder.  
Taras and Tuima nodded. Eicys shrugged a little nervously. Eredolyn and Cebu looked at each other. "Uh… why?" Cebu asked.  
Wlore disappeared into the reeking smoke, but her voice floated back up to them. They could _hear_ her grinning. "Because we're getting out of here the fast way," she said.  
Cebu looked like someone who'd just seen the light at the end of the tunnel. "Oh, good," she said. Then she put two and two together, and her expression changed to that of someone who had just realized that the light at the end of the tunnel was actually the headlights of the oncoming train.  
"Ohhh, no," she said firmly. "Nuh-uh. No way am I riding a warg. No chance."  
"No choice," said Tuima. "Let's go." She put one hand on the edge and almost vaulted onto the ladder, the light of her torch fading rapidly as she climbed down. One by one, the Immies followed her. There was some difficulty getting Dilly down, especially as Taras refused to let go of her, but they managed it eventually, until only Cebu was left at the top of the ladder, looking glum. She followed slowly and unhappily: she didn't like big dogs at the best of times, and her last experience with horses hadn't gone well at all. The prospect of riding on a combination of the two was not a pleasant one, especially when you added in the ugliness, the smell, the malicious intelligence, and the penchant for ripping out throats. _Oh, why did I have to think of that last one?_ Cebu moaned inwardly as she reached the bottom and joined the huddle of Immies who were staring doubtfully back at the wall they'd just climbed down. When Cebu looked at it, her eyes went wide. The wargs were stabled in the wall, beneath the path that the Immies had stood on moments ago. Ladders leaned between the stall doors, and hideous slavering heads lunged at the barriers, trying to get to the unfamiliar-smelling creatures outside.  
Wlore was about to unlatch one.  
Cebu, caught between the desires to scream, bolt, yell furious warnings at Wlore, and not appear a total coward, ended up just standing very still and listening bemusedly to the ringing in her ears.  
Wlore paused, her hand on the latch. "Tuima," she said. "Is there any rope?"  
Tuima looked around, spotted a tangled heap of cord in one corner, and passed it to Wlore.  
"Good," said the Rohir. "This one's still got a saddle on," – Wlore paused to scowl her disgust at orkish wargmanship – "but she hasn't got a bridle, so this might be tricky. Do you know how to throw a lasso?"  
"I've seen it done," said Tuima.  
To Cebu's dismay, Wlore seemed to regard this as sufficient. "Good," she said. "Get it around her neck as she's coming out, then come around to her hindquarters quick as you can. Toss your end to me as soon as I'm on. Ready? Go!"  
She smashed the lock with the hilt of her blade and threw the stall door wide, leaping sideways as she did. The warg rushed out, and a coil of rope settled around its neck at the same time that Wlore threw herself neatly onto its back. The creature spun, trying to seize the new rider's leg, and was brought up short by the tightening cord around its throat. It spun back around, and Tuima was suddenly confronted with _teeth_. Somehow, the rest of the warg faded into insignificance when one was faced with enormous yellowing fangs dripping ropes of slippery drool. Black lips wrinkled backwards, pulling heavy jaws open into a jagged, reeking cavern...  
"Tuima!" Wlore yelled. The Elf's eyes snapped back into focus and she threw her end of the rope towards Wlore.  
The warg's head snapped up and back, and it caught the flying rope in its teeth.  
There was a small, unpleasant moment in which Tuima seemed to shrink slightly, as though every cell in her body had just said quietly, "Oh, dear…"  
The warg grinned. This is not a sight for the faint of heart. Everyone knew what was going to happen next, and yet, somehow, no one could move to do anything about it. The warg gathered itself together and –  
Wlore launched herself forward over the creature's neck, seized one of its ears, and hauled sideways and back, forcing its head towards her knee. Then she kicked it, hard, in the joint where its back legs met the stomach. The warg let out a sound that could only be described as a shriek, hurled itself forward, staggered as its legs inadvertently followed its corkscrewed head… and was suddenly running in a tight, useless circle, as Wlore tightened her grip on its ear and spurred it on ruthlessly. "Get… the rope!" she panted through clenched teeth. Her long pale hair whirred behind as the warg spun in impotent fury. Eicys and Eredolyn both scrambled for the mangled coil, but Tuima snatched it out of their hands, tied a hasty knot, and hurled it over the warg's neck once more.  
The only problem was, Wlore's arm was in the way. She yelled as the noose tightened, pinning her elbow against the creature's throat. Then, the muscles in her thin arms knotted with strain, she gritted out, "Pull when I say!"  
"Are you crazy?" Eicys demanded.  
"Now!" yelled Wlore as she released her grip and snaked her arm free. Tuima yanked, and the choking warg turned toward her again, looking dizzy. "Throw it, throw it!" Wlore screamed, and Tuima wadded the rest of the rope together and flung it at her.  
Suddenly, Wlore was in complete control. The warg's head arced backwards as Wlore skillfully passed the end of the rope around its throat once more, forming a crude pair of reins. "_Now,_" she gritted, "We'll see who's boss."  
Two minutes later, after a punishing series of circles and figure eights, the warg stood docile and swaying, tied firmly to its stable door. Wlore had put Tuima on its back, "just in case," and was fitting it with an outlandish bridle-like contraption that appeared to make complete sense to her. "Once you look at the differences in the jaw, you can figure it out pretty quickly," she told Eredolyn, who looked on in horrified fascination in case the Rohir lost a hand.  
"There," said Wlore finally, sounding satisfied. "Good girl." She gave the warg's neck a slap. "Right then," she said, as the warg snapped half-heartedly at her fingers. "How many more do we need?"  
The Immies gaped.  
"Er… two or three," said Eicys at last, weakly. "We'll double up."  
Wlore took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched toward another stall. But this time Ungrath stepped forward. "Er, could I try somethin'?" he asked. "On'y I've seen th' other – the, uh… I've seen orcs ridin' before, an' I thought…"  
Wlore eyed him narrowly, then seemed to decide he was probably capable of handling a warg, and shrugged. "You take this one, then," she said. "I'll take that one there." She paused at the stall door. "Eredolyn, would you take Tuima's place? I need her with the rope."  
Eredolyn looked at Tuima, who was looking tense but – _typical Elf_, Eredolyn thought irritably – throroughly graceful and controlled in the warg's oddly-shaped saddle. The brute was becoming irritable again as its dizziness – and Wlore's presence – faded from its small memory, and was straining its head around in the hopes of having Elf-legs for dinner.  
"Um, why does someone need to take Tuima's place?"  
"Because it's easiest to control a hor – a warg – when mounted, of course," said Wlore. "And I feel better knowing – "  
_CRACK_.  
The Immies spun. Ungrath had opened the stall door, and, as the warg inside came leaping out, had brained it straight between the eyes with a metal pole that had been leaning against the wall. The warg staggered, looking rather cross-eyed. Ungrath eyed it appraisingly, then hit it again. The warg swayed, and with a thunderous _boom_ collapsed full-length at his feet.  
The orc nodded his satisfaction. "Now yeh jest put the saddle an' stuff on, an' when he wakes up in a few minutes he'll know better'n t' mess with yeh," he explained.  
"Ah," Tuima said faintly. "Very sensible."  
Eicys and Cebu were stifling giggles at Wlore's expression: she seemed torn between horror, indignation, and admiration, and her face stuttered between the three until she could go off into the corner where the warg's tack was heaped and lug back a heavy saddle and another of the complicated bridles, muttering to herself. She slung the saddle onto the unconscious warg and enlisted Ungrath's help in getting the straps underneath its heavy bulk. He managed to lift the warg a few inches without much difficulty, but almost dropped it on Wlore's arm as she passed the girth through the gap. She jumped backwards and glared.  
"Sorry," Ungrath gasped, bent double with pain. He swallowed queasily, shrugged away an anxiously hovering Eicys, and bent over the warg again. It twitched and growled, but Wlore had the girth tightly fastened and was finishing the last buckles on the bridle when it woke up fully.  
It pulled itself upright and snarled. Ungrath snarled back. The warg promptly sat down on the floor like a hugely oversized dog, whining faintly.  
"I _like_ that method," said Eicys. Ungrath looked embarassed.  
Wlore said grudgingly, "Well, it wouldn't work on horses, but I suppose for wargs it's not so bad." But she couldn't quite suppress a grin. "Right, then," she said, still struggling not to smile. "Third warg." She reached for the latch.  
"Hey!" a horrible voice shouted from above. "What d'ye think yer doin'?"  
Everyone looked up. A party of orcs was standing on the path just above the stables, and the leader was pointing a loaded crossbow straight at Wlore.  
The shieldmaiden didn't even hesitate. She threw the stall door wide and leapt out of the way. Snarling hidously, the warg inside came charging out – and pitched to a stop, stone dead with a crossbow bolt in its neck.  
The other wargs, smelling blood, came alive. The stables echoed with their baying cries.  
"Mount up!" Wlore yelled. "Hurry!"  
The Immies scrambled aboard the two already saddled wargs, too rushed even to be properly wary of their snapping teeth. Tuima helped Taras up behind her, propping Dilly between them, and Ungrath swung a protesting Eicys onto his cowed mount and pulled himself up behind.  
Cebu and Eredolyn, both unfamiliar with riding, hesitated. The orcs were swarming down the ladders toward them, and on the path above their leader was winching back his crossbow to reload. And behind –  
"What are you doing?" Cebu wailed, as Wlore used the hilt of her dirk to smash lock after lock on the wargs' stall doors. She snatched up the rest of the rope and stood back, knotting it feverishly as, with triumphant howls, the enormous wolves erupted from their confinement and leapt into the open.  
Tuima slashed through the rope tying her warg, and wheeled it around sharply. "Let's go!" she shouted above the din. Ungrath kicked his after her. Cebu and Eredolyn clutched at each other as wargs bounded past them, joining the gruesome feast on their dead comrade.  
"Come on!" came Wlore's voice, and the Eorling pulled up short in front of them. She was riding bareback, and was controlling her mount with knees alone as she deftly knotted the length of rope into an odd series of loops. "Get on!" she cried, leaning forward. She seized a handful of bristly mane and yanked the warg's head around long enough to settle the rope contraption over its muzzle. It snapped at her, but she had already pulled back triumphantly, a crude pair of reins in her hands and a makeshift halter settled firmly over her mount's head.  
She reached down and hauled Cebu up behind her; Eredolyn scrambled frantically to get aboard as well, clutching at the warg's coarse hair as it sidled and snarled. At last she kicked her way up, and Wlore spurred the warg forward just as a crossbow bolt whined past her ear.  
"Close one," she commented cheerfully. Cebu moaned and tightened her already vise-like grip around Wlore's waist.  
They bounded after the others, neatly dodging the orcs who had by now reached the bottom and were trying to fend off the remaining wargs. Judging from the screams, their efforts were largely unsuccessful.  
Wlore bared her teeth in an exhilarated grin as they hurtled down a dark corridor, scattering goblins as they went. Eredolyn and Cebu wrapped their legs around the warg's middle and their arms around the person in front, and concentrated on not falling off. They bounced and slid with every bound.  
"Where's Eicys?" Cebu screamed at Eredolyn.  
"She's with Ungrath!" Eredolyn shouted back. "They're just ahead!"  
"What about Dilly?" yelled Cebu.  
"With Taras and Tuima! I can't talk anymore, I think I might swallow my tongue!"  
This seemed increasingly likely as the warg settled into a jarring gallop that threatened to shake the teeth from their heads. "Where are we going?" Cebu hollered into Wlore's ear.  
"Out!" shouted Wlore.  
"I thought you didn't know the way!"  
"No! We're asking the wargs, remember? Eredolyn's idea!"  
Despite the fact that every muscle in her body was already fully occupied with just staying on, Cebu managed to turn around and give Eredolyn a murderous look.  
"How are you asking them?" Eredolyn managed to shout.  
"We just let them run! They don't like being in these tunnels either!"  
Eredolyn noticed the 'either,' but didn't have time to think about it, because just then they skidded around a corner and were hit by a veritable wall of blinding sunlight.  
In fact it was only a weak glow showing from the door, which was around yet another corner, but it seemed painfully brilliant to their dark-accustomed eyes. The wargs howled, gathered themselves, and hurtled gleefully through the doorway.  
The last rays of the setting sun gleamed redly across the plains as three wargs and their riders left Isengard behind, running towards Fangorn Forest, and freedom.

* * *

_Author's Note: The tactics used by Wlore in this chapter are, in fact, feasible (although I've never steered a horse by its ears: I am neither strong enough nor heartless enough. But this was a warg, so we're not too worried about it). It is true that horses are best controlled from their backs, and that you can make a makeshift halter and reins from a single piece of rope. It is also true that pulling your mount's head around to your knee is a very good way to discipline it. Of course, so is bashing it over the head a la Ungrath, but I do not recommend this in most equine situations. Neither does Wlore. She adds, however, that wargs are a special case and that it is important to consider circumstances._


	28. Fangorn

**_Muse Quest  
_**_**Chapter 28: Fangorn  
**Okay, now it can't get any worse. ...Right?_

_

* * *

_Eicys' head bobbed unsteadiy over the neck of her warg. The world had dissolved into a gritty haze of cold, aching exhaustion. She could feel Ungrath's warm bulk at her back, steadying her, and she sagged against him gratefully. He smelled horribly of the orc barracks – but then, Eicys reasoned, she probably did, too. Her clothing was so filthy that every crease chafed against her equally dirty skin, and she could feel the warg's rank sweat loosening the dried gore that caked her jeans, so that a trickle of muddy black blood ran into her socks. She was too tired to care. This had been, without a doubt, the longest day of her entire life. And probably the worst, too, even though everything – almost everything – had turned out all right in the end.  
She glanced over at the warg loping alongside: Dilly's head was lolling on Taras' chest, her hair spilling over a frighteningly pale face and tangling in the bloody bandages that wrapped her shoulder. As Eicys watched, Dilly opened her eyes, blinking hazily for a moment before letting out a muffled cry of pain. Her fingers clutched at the front of Taras' ragged tunic as she clenched her teeth, breath hissing in and out in short, shallow gasps.  
"Dilly," he said, very low, as he steadied her. "Are you all right?"  
"I'm fine," she gritted. "I'm okay. Where are we?"  
"We stole some wargs. We're almost to Fangorn. Tuima says she can find herbs there to help…"  
"I'll be all right," she gasped. "Is there any water?"  
Taras fumbled awkwardly for his pack, keeping his seat on the warg with just his knees as he propped Dilly against his chest and pulled a flask out of the leather sack. But Dilly had already sunk back into unconsciousness, her clenched fists easing with the relief of oblivion.

* * *

Eicys sighed and let go of her grip on the warg's mane for long enough to scrub a hand across her eyes. After almost two hours of riding, the shadow of Fangorn was finally resolving itself into a tangled black wall of trees just ahead, and the wargs were slowing as they approached. Wlore, who was in the lead with Eredolyn and Cebu hanging on wearily behind her, nudged her mount forward through a low arch of trees, not without a last, longing glance at the open plains behind her. The other two wargs followed wearily, snapping at each other to be the first one through.  
The trees creaked and moaned, the rustling of their leaves sounding eerily like human voices, and all the Immies glanced around apprehensively. Except Tuima, who spread her arms, tipped her head back, and sighed deeply, murmuring in Elvish. The creaking stilled, and a benign silence settled over the trees.  
Then the warg carrying Ungrath and Eicys passed into the forest, and immediately the groaning picked up again, furious and menacing. Eicys shivered, feeling her friend stiffen behind her. Tuima glanced at them, then overhead at the forest canopy, and then went into a string of lilting Elvish that eventually settled the trees into a sullen creaking that sharpened whenever the orc moved suddenly.  
"Can we stop yet?" groaned Cebu, who was feeling certain that her lower half would never be the same again.  
"Not yet," Tuima said. "We need to get far enough to be safe from pursuit. I am surprised we haven't seen anyone behind us yet; we caused quite a bit of havoc in our… departure."  
"Yeah, but they don't have anyone to organize them," said Eredolyn. "Last time we saw Saruman he could barely stand up straight."  
Tuima smiled as smugly as her dignity would permit.  
"So can we stop?" Cebu asked again, pleadingly.  
"Just a little further," Tuima said, and nudged her warg forward again. Several people groaned, but they all followed, the haphazard beams of moonlight playing over dirty, exhausted faces.  
After several more eternities, Eicys, who had long since sagged into the stiff unpleasant darkness of half-sleep, became dimly aware of a murmur of voices, and then of the fact that the wargs had pulled to a halt. She opened her eyes blearily to a thick, gnarled blackness: this deep into Fangorn, the light had almost all choked away before it could reach the forest floor.  
"Are we there yet?" came Eredolyn's muffled voice.  
"I don't care," Cebu answered, her tone saturated with weariness. "I'm getting – ouch – off this thing and – ohhh – going to sleep for a week. Oww…"  
Forcing her eyes to stay open, Eicys slid clumsily off her warg and sprawled miserably in the damp, cold leaves. The animal bared long fangs at her, but she only reached up and smacked it away. "Leave me 'lone," she mumbled irritably. The warg regarded her in surprise, and Eicys heard Wlore laugh tiredly just behind her.  
"Have we come far enough, do you think?" Tuima asked Taras.  
"We can't go any further," he said. "I don't know if she's going to make it." He shifted Dilly so that he could dismount.  
"I'll tie up the wargs," said Wlore, taking a lead rope.  
"Should I start a fire or anything?" said Eredolyn, who was staying upright only by leaning against her warg. When it moved off after Wlore, she staggered and landed in an undignified heap next to Cebu, who was drooping against a tree, leaves clinging to her flaming curls. Eicys crawled over and joined her, huddling close against the February night.  
"I'll take care of the fire," said Tuima, smudging dirt and weariness away from her eyes. "Got to keep her warm…"  
"I'll do it," came Taras' voice. "Do you need anything else?"  
"Just water… I'll go look for herbs once the wound has been cleaned…"  
"What can I do?" Eredolyn asked, trying uselessly to stand up again.  
"Taras and I will be fine," said Tuima, every word soaked in poison. Eredolyn blinked and looked down. Her fine velvet gown was smeared and spattered with filth, and she picked miserably at the fraying edge of her tied-up trousers.  
But for Eicys, the murmur of voices had faded into a foggy whirl of sheer numb exhaustion, and in seconds she was fast asleep.

* * *

She woke up only a few hours later, cold, hungry, filthy, and aching in every fiber. It was still dark, but a flickering orange light showed that Taras had got a fire going, though it was feeble and tiny. Tuima was crouched next to it, her eyes sliding in and out of focus and her limbs unsteady from exhaustion as she shredded some leaves into the helmet they were using to boil water in. She dipped a strip of cloth from the hem of her cloak into the hot water, and hunched over Dilly to loosen the stiff, grimy bandages.  
"How is she?" Taras croaked, and Eicys shifted so that she could see him: his face was grey with exhaustion, and he had worn a deep track in the forest floor with pacing.  
"Still the same," said Tuima.  
Taras turned away again with a muffled curse, and resumed pacing. Four steps, stop abruptly, turn. Four steps, stop, turn, four steps… Eicys, looking at the worn-out impression left by his feet, recognized it as exactly the dimensions of a dungeon cell.  
Eicys pressed her back closer against Cebu's, shivering in the freezing air, and tried to ignore the sting and throb of various small injuries that were clamoring for her attention. She realized with a weary groan that she was still wearing most of her orc-armor; she pulled off the most uncomfortable bits before burrowing back into the damp leaves and clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. Eredolyn and Wlore shifted slightly to let her back in: none of them were able to fall completely asleep, despite their exhaustion.  
"Cold," muttered Eredolyn.  
"Th'r's a fire," Eicys mumbled.  
"Tiny one. Tired," Cebu said, and the four girls bunched closer together and tried hard to get some sleep.

* * *

They woke up several more times as the night wore on, as is usual when cold and uncomfortable. The third time that Eicys woke up, Cebu and Eredolyn were awake as well, murmuring weary monosyllables as they squirmed around trying to avoid rocks and roots.  
"… awful place," said Cebu. "All we need now is for it to start – "  
"Don't," Eredolyn interrupted. "Please."  
There was a pause.  
"It's raining," said Eicys gloomily.  
They simply sat there as the shower increased, plastering their filthy hair against their heads. There was nothing to be done – they were already under a tree, and apparently the only thing _that_ did was allow the raindrops to collect themselves into _big fat_ raindrops before aiming them down the collars of those below.  
"Can this day get any worse?" muttered Wlore, awake and shivering next to Eredolyn.  
"Don't!" Eredolyn said again, fearing the laws of comedy.  
"I think she's right," Eicys grumbled, wringing water out of her hair. It came out tinged with black from the orc-blood caked into her scalp, and she grimaced. "I mean, every time someone says 'it can't get worse' – "  
"It always does!" said Eredolyn, shifting so that she was no longer sitting in a puddle. Her makeshift pants were soaking wet, and sticking cold and clammy against her skin.  
"—It always starts raining," Eicys finished. "And it's _already_ raining. So it's safe to say that _now_ it can't get any worse."  
There was a clap of thunder, and it started to hail.  
"I'm shutting up," Eicys said dully, as icy pellets bounced around them.  
"Good idea," snarled Eredolyn.

There was a thoroughly miserable silence, broken only by the occasional sharp "_ow_." Eicys listened to the faint sizzle of ice striking the coals of Taras' doused fire: Taras himself was crouched next to Tuima, the two of them sheltering Dilly under Taras' outstretched cloak. It probably didn't make much difference – Dilly was a frightening grey-white, and raindrops slid as carelessly across her face as though it belonged to a marble statue. Eicys humped her shoulders unhappily and stared at nothing until the hail lessened, and finally stopped. Still nobody said anything.  
Finally Wlore broke the silence: "Sunrise isn't for a couple of hours," she said. They just looked at her dully. The thought of trying to go back to sleep was ridiculous; instead they huddled close together, heads drooping briefly in spurts of exhaustion, only to jerk upright again as the cold and discomfort stabbed at them.  
Somehow, though, Eicys managed to drop off for a while, and when she woke up again, with her neck aching fiercely from the awkward angle, faint rays of early-morning sunlight were pushing their way through the forest canopy overhead, cool and lemon-yellow. Eicys groaned and tried to stand; her muscles shrieked in protest as she staggered to her feet and looked around.  
Her mouth felt scummy and gross, goosebumps prickled her dirty arms, and her hair stood out from her head in a mass of snarls, but she felt a little better. Things are always better in the morning, even if the morning concerned is a muddy, wet and frigid one in the middle of nowhere without any food or shelter and a wounded friend and whole bags of nasty vicious killers a couple hours away who are very, very angry with you.  
Okay, scratch that. She didn't feel better at all.  
She stumbled over to the black and soggy remnants of the fire, and sat down next to Dilly, looking her over carefully. There was a groan and some movement behind her, and then Eredolyn sat down as well, staring anxiously at Dilly's too-pale face. "She hasn't woken up yet?" she asked.  
"A few times, earlier in the night," said Tuima. "But nothing in the past few hours. May the blackest Void take that uruk and his carelessness!"  
Eicys and Eredolyn exchanged confused looks. Tuima explained: "The uruk let his blade become blunt and rusty." Seeing their continuing bewilderment, she sighed and said, "That means that the wound is not clean. It was like being struck with a club as well as a blade: there is a great deal of bruising and filth, and the collarbone is badly broken. I think…" She sighed again. "I think it is already infected." Taras, who had halted his pacing to listen, swore softly and resumed his restless strides, head in hands.  
"We have to get her to a hospital," Eredolyn said. "We've got to get out of here."  
Eicys nodded anxiously. "Our backyard has to be around here somewhere." She realized belatedly how ridiculous that sounded.  
"Fangorn is huge," said Tuima soberly. "And it was dark when the orcs captured us, and it was dark, too, last night when we returned. We could be anywhere."  
Eicys stiffened with dawning horror. "We're lost?" she asked, her voice disappearing on the last word. "You don't know the way back?"  
"Couldn't you just find our tracks or something?" Eredolyn asked.  
"It's been nearly a month since we were taken to Isengard," snapped Tuima. "Such tracking is beyond my skill. And we can hardly go traipsing about the forest with Dilly in this condition."  
"Yeah, but we can't stay here with her like this, either!" Eredolyn argued. "She needs a doctor, and real medicine!"  
Tuima scowled. "I have studied herbs and healing in Imladris for a century," she said, ice cubes slithering down every syllable. "I know what I am doing."  
"Then why's she like this?" Eredolyn demanded, gesturing desperately at her best friend. "Why haven't you fixed her yet?"  
"Because," hissed Tuima, "I do not have any medicine or supplies, and I have not yet had time to gather enough herbs: I have been too busy caring for Dilly while you slept." The pointed sarcasm in the last word was wielded like a knife, and Eredolyn flinched, the blood leaving her face in hurt and shame and fury.  
"G'morning…" came Cebu's groggy voice behind them, and Tuima and Eredolyn both jumped. Cebu and Wlore pulled themselves upright, looking disshevelled and pinched. The redhead looked like an autumn bush with her hair full of leaves.  
"Is there anything to eat?" Wlore asked wearily.  
"A little," said Tuima, her gaze still acid. "Mostly orc-rations."  
The word reminded Eicys of something that had been nagging at her all night. "Where's Ungrath?" she said.  
Without stopping his pacing, Taras lifted an arm and pointed. Several yards outside the little clearing that the Immies had slept in, Ungrath was dozing with his head on his knees. He had been careful to stay as far from all the trees as possible.  
"Wasn't he cold?" Cebu asked, still groggy.  
Taras shrugged, his eyes hard. The two other natives of Middle-earth, Wlore and Tuima, reacted similarly. Wlore was already riffling through the two packs that had survived the escape, looking disgusted. "This one has blood all over everything," she said. "And there's only a little flatbread and some dried meat in the other one."  
"Meaning the flatbread is the only thing we have," said Taras, gingerly taking the strips of meat and throwing them into the trees.  
"Hey!" said Eicys.  
"Did you want to eat it?" Taras demanded. "It's not cooked, you know, just dried – and who knows what creature it came from? Orcs eat men, as well as other orcs."  
Eicys stared at him in horror. "Oh no," she moaned at last. "I think I'm gonna be sick. I've been eating that stuff for a month. Oh man, oh gross, ohhh…" She clamped a hand over her mouth and stared fixedly at the forest floor, looking green. "Oh, man, I hate this place," she mumbled. "I want to go home. I want to go home."  
Cebu slumped down beside her. "Well, we have breakfast at least," she said.  
"And I'm sure I can find roots and leaves to eat," Tuima said. "And Taras could go hunting."  
"With what?" asked Taras gloomily. "My sword?"  
"There's got to be some sort of rope or log traps you can make, right?" asked Eredolyn.  
"We don't have any rope," Taras pointed out. He sighed. "I'll see what I can do, though."  
"Right," said Tuima. "Taras will go hunting, Wlore and I will look for herbs, Eicys, you and Cebu try to find some water, and Eredolyn, you search for the driest wood you can find. Don't cut any of the trees, though!"  
"While what, the orc stays behind to watch over Dilly?" Taras asked caustically. Eicys bristled, but Tuima looked startled, and then appalled.  
"No," she said. "Eredolyn, you had better stay here. Ungrath can go for wood."  
"I'd rather keep an eye on him," Taras said soberly. Eicys scowled.  
"Do you want him to go hunting with you?" Tuima demanded, and Taras' eyes narrowed at once. He shook his head decisively.  
"We'd never catch anything. And I couldn't guarantee that we'd both come back. He knows I don't trust him."  
Eicys gaped between them, shocked and furious. "I can't believe you!" she exclaimed. "What does he have to do? He almost died, for heaven's sake!"  
"He _did_ die," said Taras. "I saw it. And now he's walking around again, perfectly fine, with a different face?" He snorted. "Even if it is the same orc, I don't trust anything that ought to be dead and isn't. It sounds like those wraiths that they say haunt Minas Morgul."  
"Or the Paths of the Dead," Wlore added, sorting the bread into portions and handing it around. Eicys opened her mouth incredulously, shut it again with a snap, and snatched her rations out of Wlore's hand. She took a second portion as well, and then turned around and marched out of the clearing, to where Ungrath was still huddled up small as he could, away from the trees.


	29. Healing

**Muse Quest  
Chapter29: Healing  
**_She never thought she'd say this, but the sooner they got out of Middle-earth, the better._

_

* * *

_

Eicys slowed as she got closer to her friend. He was hunched up with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around himself to ward off the cold. Still fuming from the others' callous attitude, Eicys nevertheless took a minute to look him over. She was so used to him that his appearance hardly even registered with her any more, but for a moment she tried to see him the way the others did.  
It was not a pleasant experience. Ungrath was enormous; easily seven feet tall, with proportionate width of chest and shoulder. His black hair hung in a snarled mat to the middle of his back, and almost every inch of him was covered with blood – even his face was smeared with inky streaks. To be honest, he could have done with more of them… anything that hid that hideous mottled skin could be counted an improvement. His nose was flat and crooked, and one fang protruded from between twisted black lips. Eicys glanced unwillingly at his hands: massive gauntleted affairs with claws that looked thoroughly usable.  
She took an involuntary step backwards.  
Ungrath groaned, shifted, and blinked blearily up at her. Eicys couldn't resist a little sigh of relief when she saw his familiar brown eyes peering out of that horrible face. "Morning," she said.  
"Nngh," grunted Ungrath. Orcs do not make good morning people. He squinted at her, hesitated, and slowly let his gaze travel to the looming trees. Ugly memories went crashing across his face. "Oh," he said tonelessly, and shut his eyes tight. After a small, tight silence he said, without opening them, "I was dead, wasn' I." It wasn't really a question.  
Eicys winced. "Well, you – you were…" He opened his eyes and looked at her wearily. "Yes," Eicys said in a tiny voice.  
Ungrath rubbed his eyes, paused, and pulled his hands away to peer at them unsteadily. Eventually he looked up again. "You a'right?"  
"Am _I_…? I mean – Yes, I'm fine," she said incredulously. He gave a stiff nod and then clambered to his feet, shivering. But before he could stand up straight, he let out a gasp and sat down again in a cacophany of armor.  
"Ungrath?" Eicys asked anxiously. The uruk's teeth were clenched and his face looked even more grey than usual.  
"I'm a'right," he hissed, with a glare that dared her to contradict. Grimly, he hauled himself upright again, swaying. Eicys reached out an anxious hand, but he ignored it, staring fixedly at nothing until he could breathe properly again. Slowly his fists eased and opened.  
"What happened?" Eicys squeaked.  
"I don' know," he said irritably, and just a little bit too quickly. He looked at his hand, winced, and curled it into a fist again. "What did you want?"  
Eicys was taken aback. "I… brought you some breakfast."  
He eyed the chunk of bread. "You c'n have it," he muttered. "I'm not hungry."  
"Neither am I," Eicys lied promptly. "Eat it."  
He hesitated a moment longer, then took the bread. "Thanks," he mumbled without looking at her.  
"Don't mention it," said Eicys.  
The trees creaked. Eicys fiddled restlessly with a tangled lock of hair.  
"Ungrath, are you okay?" she burst out. He scowled. "You just – you look really different," she hurried on defensively, and even as she said it realized how true it was. "Really different," she said again. "And… and yesterday…"  
"Nothin' wrong with me," he growled. "Don' you have somethin' else t' do?"  
Eicys gaped.  
"Cebu and I were going to look for water," she said at last, a little coldly. "The others want to know if you could get some firewood."  
"Yeah," said Ungrath, staring at his hands again. He saw her looking, and stuck them behind his back.  
"Ungrath…" she tried again.  
He stiffened. "What?" It was almost a snarl.  
Eicys sighed gustily. "Never mind. Be careful, all right?"  
He glanced at the trees. "Yeah," he said again, and watched her leave.

* * *

Cebu eyed her little sister askance as they pushed their way through the late February undergrowth. She had noticed yesterday how jumpy Eicys had become, but she had attributed it to anxiety about the escape. But even now, Eicys flinched at sudden movements or noises, and once when Cebu reached out to pull a leaf from her sister's hair, Eicys had jumped backwards so quickly she almost fell over.  
After this incident, they walked in silence for quite a while. Eventually Cebu said quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"  
"No," said Eicys. And she didn't. Not at all. But Cebu looked so worried… "It's just habit, I guess," Eicys muttered. "Living with orcs…" She trailed off and shrugged, hoping that was the end of it.  
"Was it that bad?" Cebu asked in a low voice.  
Eicys shrugged again.  
"Ungrath seems all right, though," Cebu ventured after another long pause, hoping to draw her sister out.  
"He won't talk to me," muttered Eicys, kicking at a tree root. Overhead, branches rattled warningly. The two of them hurried on. "I'm getting worried," Eicys said, more to herself than to her sister. "He's acting so different – and he looks different, too."  
Cebu wasn't sure what to say to that, and Eicys seemed to have clammed up pretty thoroughly on the subject anyway. So the two of them walked in uncomfortable silence until the trees opened up again slightly, and they heard the welcome sound of running water.  
"Not too far from camp," said Cebu. "But this clearing looks a lot nicer. Look at that overhang thing – that would make a good shelter." Eicys nodded obediently. "Do you think we should move?" asked Cebu.  
Eicys scuffed a foot in the leaves. "Dilly."  
"Oh," said Cebu miserably. "Right. Well, maybe once she's fixed up a bit…" She unslung the three empty canteens they had brought out of Isengard, and knelt next to the stream. Once they had been filled, she took a long drink of the running water and splashed her face. Eicys did likewise, then after a brief hesitation, dunked her head in as well. She came up gasping and sputtering with cold, but looked very relieved as she finger-combed blood and dirt out of her hair.  
"I've been dreaming about hot showers since we got here," she said, and steeled herself to submerse her head again. She gasped. "Guess this is the next best thing."  
Cebu tugged a few tangled copper curls around to the front. One of them had a leaf stuck in it, and another was clumped around a few velcro-like burrs. "I don't think a stream would even make a difference with mine," she lamented.  
"Hang on…" Eicys leaned over. "What the – ? Cebu, you still have a keyboard letter in your hair!"  
"What?"  
"It's a 'q'," said Eicys, bemused. "Man, those are some seriously thick curls you have."  
"I know," Cebu said glumly. She examined the plastic letter. "It seems like forever since that party. Our biggest worry was whether Coralie was ever going to come up with chapter forty-one." She laughed a little and stuck the 'q' in the pocket of her battered jeans.  
"Actually," Eicys said, arching her back to avoid the trickle of icy water dripping from her hair, "Eredolyn thinks that still is a big worry. She says the story won't go anywhere until Coralie writes again."  
"Yeah, that's what Euterpe was saying too, remember?"  
"Oh yeah," said Eicys. "She gave us some sort of quest-thing. As if. We've been having enough trouble just staying alive."  
"Muse Quest," said Cebu. "Sounds like a computer game or something."  
"Huh. I wish I could hit the Escape button." Eicys wrung out her hair and flipped it over a shoulder. "Brr," she said.  
"Well, here's the 'q' if you want it," said Cebu. "And now I think I'll have a shower."  
"Yeah, here's the shampoo, and the bubble bath…"  
"What I really want is conditioner," said Cebu, kneeling by the stream. "Yiyiyi! _DANG_, that's cold!"  
"What _I_ really want is _toothpaste_," said Eicys, making a face.  
Cebu made one, too. "I stand corrected. Toothpaste would be best."  
"And toilet paper."  
"_Thank you_, I was trying not to think about that."  
"Sorry." Eicys shivered in the cold morning air. "Let's get back to camp," she said, and tried not to sound bitter when she added, "Maybe  
Ungrath will feel like talking by now."  
"If he and Taras haven't killed each other yet," said Cebu.  
Eicys laughed, but there was a definite nervous edge to the sound. "Let's go," she said again, and Cebu picked up the filled canteens and joined her.

* * *

Eredolyn crouched next to her friend, feeling thoroughly useless and miserable. Everyone was gone: Tuima had taken Wlore with her to gather what stunted herbs could be found in late February, Taras had very reluctantly left to set some makeshift traps in the surrounding woods, and Eredolyn had no idea where Ungrath was – but Taras would probably have something to say about the matter. Eredolyn sighed, eyeing the worn-out track in the leaves: it was exactly four strides long, and disturbingly deep. Taras had obviously been pacing all night.  
Tuima and Wlore returned first, with a cloak full of wilted, weedy plants and bits of bark. "No fire?" asked Tuima wearily.  
Eredolyn shook her head. "Everything I can find is wet. And I don't know how to start one without matches, anyway."  
"Matches?" querried Wlore, but Tuima was already sorting through the little pile of herbs.  
"I can't do much without hot water," she said, "but we can start grinding a few of these…"  
She was interrupted by the return of Ungrath, who appeared to be carrying the better half of a tree. Jaws dropped. Tuima's eyebrows seemed to be seeking a close acquaintance with her hairline. Oblivious to their stares, Ungrath dropped the log with a _thud_ that rattled Eredolyn's teeth and showered the clearing with dead leaves. The uruk shook his shaggy head to dislodge a few, set his claws into a crack in the wood, and began to pull it apart. The muscles in his back and arms strained and knotted as he wrenched the crack wider and wider until with a _CRACK_ and a shower of splinters, the whole log split in two. He then set about methodically breaking each half into manageable pieces until he had a neat stack of firewood sitting where there had once been most of a tree.  
Then he stood up, rubbed dirty hands on his already filthy shirt, and turned to go.  
He stopped. "What?" he asked harshly. He scanned the staring faces. "It was dry, I checked," he said defensively.  
"That's good," said Tuima faintly. Then, after a brief pause, she added, "Thank you."  
Ungrath looked surprised, but jerked his head in a nod. "D'you need any more?"  
Tuima eyed the towering pile. "I think we'll be all right for a while," she said. Ungrath nodded again. He turned to go a second time, but balked at the tangled dark of Fangorn just beyond the clearing.  
"You can stay, if you want," said Eredolyn to his back. He turned, looking tense and suspicious, and his eyes flickered toward the Elf.  
Tuima and Wlore exchanged a look. Tuima nodded warily.

Ungrath hesitated. He took a step forward – and stopped abruptly. There was a jumble of voices, and then Taras stepped into the clearing, followed closely by Eicys and Cebu. Both girls were trying surreptitiously to flatten their wet, tangled hair, and kept shooting sideways glances at the young Gondorian. They would both have denied this vehemently, but it was true nonetheless – Taras simply had that effect on girls. Tall, graceful, sea-grey eyes, a tumble of ebony hair, and _the_ most gorgeous smile – depressingly rare, yes, but definitely swoon-inducing. And right now he had turned it, briefly and half-heartedly, on Eicys, who couldn't prevent an answering smile from flooding her face like a new lightbulb.  
"Did you find any water?" asked Tuima. Cebu held up the canteens. "Good," said Tuima, her long fingers neatly stripping leaves from a sharp-smelling plant. "These need to be boiled, and I have to wash the wound. Taras, if you wouldn't mind starting a… Oh. Thank you."  
"Where did you find so much dry wood?" Taras asked, his arms full of splintered log.  
"Ungrath brought it," said Eredolyn. "He had a whole – Hey, where'd he go?"  
"He left when these three came," Tuima said absently, tipping some water into one of Eicys' discarded shoulder-plates, which had been beaten and bent into a more bowl-like shape. "I wish you hadn't thrown away your helmet, Eicys."  
"Sorry," said Eicys just as absently. "Where'd he go?"  
"Who?"  
"_Ungrath_."  
"I don't know," said Tuima, still without looking up. "He'll be back soon. The trees don't like him much."

Taras muttered something, but it was lost in the sound of steel striking flint. He was grateful they had that much, at least: it had been stuck in a side pocket of the orkish packs, thank Eru. Lost in a hostile wood without blankets, food, medicine, shelter… Throw in a wounded comrade, three very hungry wargs, and a massive orc, and their situation was an ideal recipe for complete and utter disaster. He blew carefully on the sparks until they caught.  
Tuima promptly hung the armor-bowl over the flame and threw in a few leaves and a heavy handful of shredded bark. She was muttering to herself, and Taras, who as a Numenorean had learned some Sindarin, caught a few words: "Yarrow, comfrey, nettle… where's the witch hazel… no, here's the willow bark… Right." She scraped a greeny-brown paste off of the rock she'd been using as a pestle and dropped it into a canteen, which she shook vigorously and handed to Taras. "Give this to her to drink," she ordered, already dropping tiny yellow petals into the water over the fire. "The rest of you, go away." She brushed a pile of something that smelled truly awful into a folded dock leaf and put it under a stone to hold it together. After a while she looked up. "Well?" she said. "I can't concentrate with all of you bumbling around like this. Go away."  
The Immies shared a few sour glances, but obediently retreated. All but one.  
"I'm not leaving," Eredolyn said stubbornly. "I can help."  
Tuima gave her a contemptuous look. "Go away," she said.  
"No. She's my best friend. I'm staying."  
The Elf didn't bother looking up again. _"Go away_."  
"Taras is staying!"  
"Taras is the only one who can help me set the bone back in place. And besides, he doesn't _hover_."  
"I don't – "  
"_Go away, Eredolyn_."  
The tone was so imperious that it sent Eredolyn's legs stumbling backwards without the apparent intervention of her brain. She stepped forward again angrily, her mouth open to –  
"You would only be in the way," said Tuima, in a voice of deadly calm.  
Eredolyn turned white and red by turns. Finally she stomped away into the forest, shoving brush out of her way.

* * *

Tuima watched her go impassively, then reached over her shoulder, pulled one of her long Elvish knives out of its sheath, and held it point-down in the boiling water.  
"Did she drink the willow?" she asked Taras, who nodded, still a little taken aback. "Good," she sighed. Then, gritting her teeth, she pulled her knife out, peeled the mangled t-shirt away from Dilly's shoulder, and – Taras let out a strangled yell of shock – sliced cleanly through the messily healing wound. Dilly, already unconscious, nevertheless tensed for a moment before slumping back against Taras' anxious arms, looking even paler than before.  
"What did you do that for?" he almost shouted.  
"Infection," she said. "Look."  
Taras looked, and wished he hadn't. "Was it poisoned?" he whispered.  
"No," said Tuima shortly. "Just crushed, and extremely dirty." The Elf dipped a torn-off strip of cloth into the boiling water. "Make sure she doesn't move," she said, and began cleaning the wound very carefully, deftly extracting bits of cloth and dirt and even – Taras blanched – splinters of bone. Now he could – somewhat – understand her evicting the others: she wore the most intensely concentrated look he had ever seen.  
After a long while a faint stream of Elvish murmuring swam into the audible spectrum, but it was in Quenya and Taras didn't understand any of it. The water bubbled gently, giving off a cloud of sharp-smelling herbal steam. Tuima dipped her cloth delicately back into the pot without scalding her fingers, held it until it cooled slightly, and laid it on the newly cleaned wound, still murmuring. Dilly sighed, and sagged a little further against Taras.  
"All right," said Tuima quietly, taking a deep breath. "Have you seen bones set before?"  
Taras just nodded.  
"Right," said Tuima. "Hold here… good… _Now._"

* * *

Dilly's scream brought every Immie in hearing distance pelting back into the clearing. Eredolyn skidded to a stop in a flurry of dead leaves, scratched, dissheveled and thoroughly appalled. "What happened?" she demanded wildly.  
Tuima deliberately picked a leaf off of her sleeve and turned back to Dilly, removing the herb-soaked cloth and dipping it back into the pot. She retrieved the dock leaf of crushed herbs, shook them into the cloth, and laid it against the wound again before saying anything.  
"We set her collarbone."  
"Didn't you put her to sleep first?" Eicys demanded in horror.  
"Of course," Tuima snapped. "But she could have been _dead_ and she probably would have screamed at that." Taras shivered quietly. He was almost as pale as Dilly.  
"Dilly doesn't scream," Eredolyn argued. "Once she threw her knee out of joint and she just smashed it against a bedpost to stick it back into place – didn't bother her at all." It was Cebu's turn to shudder.  
"Nevertheless," said Tuima crisply. She took the makeshift pot off the fire and began dropping in various decimated plants until it was thick and brown. It smelled almost violently medicinal. Then she looked up, one eyebrow raised in that obnoxiously refined way she had, and gave the Immies a look that said, "Why are you still here?"  
The Immies backed away, cowed and irritated. But once again, Eredolyn didn't move. "I'm staying, Tuima," she said. The arched brow inched derisively higher: several of the retreating Immies winced. Eredolyn ignored it and sat down next to the fire, taking Dilly's free hand – the other was firmly in Taras' grip. "I'm _staying_," she said.  
Tuima's eyes narrowed. "All I have left to do is make a compress to draw out the infection, and then stitch up the wound," she said dismissively, but without the usual acid. She gave Eredolyn a look that seemed to be reading her mind – and circling all the mistakes with a little red pencil. Finally, she said, "Would you hand me the calendula? The orange flowers – yes, there."  
Eredolyn handed it to her, bemusedly realizing that she was allowed to stay. The Elf never looked up from her work, but she said, "Thank you," and seemed to feel better afterwards.  
Eredolyn only looked down at her friend and didn't say anything. She was glad Tuima was there to take care of Dilly, but that didn't mean she liked her – the Elf was imperious, sarcastic, and extremely thin-tempered. It didn't help that she actually had a _right_ to be: Tuima practically dripped with poise and competence, while the rest of the girls had been floundering about in their new environment like headless chickens. With the possible exception of Eicys, they had all made rather a mess of things, and Eredolyn had definitely made the worst mess of all. She felt as though an ice cube had slipped into her stomach at the thought of Saruman and his enchanted voice.  
"Eredolyn! The slippery elm, if you wouldn't mind?" Eredolyn jumped guiltily at the realization that the impatient Elf had already asked twice. _There – it's happening again,_ she thought as Taras nudged her hand toward a pile of powdered bark. _Somehow she's always in perfect control, totally on top of things, with a perfect _right_ to be exasperated. It wouldn't be so bad if she occasionally made some mistakes, acted a bit more… human… _

_Oh._

Eredolyn poured a measure of the elm bark into Tuima's waiting hand. _She doesn't even look human_, Eredolyn thought, wondering at their stupidity on first meeting her. To be fair, they had hardly expected an Elf to show up at the school costume party. Even so, they had all taken to her – at least at first. It wasn't that she was… stunning, or anything like that. In fact, she was rather nondescript: brown hair, hazel eyes, straight nose. But there was something alien there: something distinctly _other_. She was all long, graceful lines and delicate points, and she moved differently: as though every last atom was under her complete control. Her skin was flawless, too, and she seemed to have no trouble avoiding the muck and blood and generic grime that clung to the rest of the Immies.  
In fact, Eredolyn thought sourly, she would be a perfect little Mary-Sue if she didn't give the impression that she ought to be wearing a severely plain dress and a tight bun and hideous, sensible shoes. Yes, Eredolyn decided, that was it. Tuima was a sort of Middle-earth Miss Minchin (apart from her ability to swear the air blue when she lost her temper) who had been landed with a class of dim, unruly children whom she was not allowed to cane. _How terribly aggravating for her_, Eredolyn thought, oozing sarcasm from every pore. She felt very let down: of the many things that Eredolyn had imagined Elves being, primly sarcastic was not one of them.  
In fact, this whole stupid adventure was a letdown. When she had fantasized about Middle-earth back home, somehow all the cold and blood and dirt had been left out. And now… Eredolyn wound her fingers with Dilly's and squeezed hard. Now, even the happy ending was looking uncertain.  
Eredolyn sighed, tightening her grip on Dilly's hand. She never thought she'd say this, but the sooner they got out of Middle-earth, the better.

* * *

A/N-Thanks to every single person who has read this and reviewed! I'm going to start answering questions in the reviews section and some are already up. The Immies thank you all Profusely! We have a lot of fun writing this! So thanks again for reading and tell a friend about this, see if you can get them hooked as well!  
Love Cebu and the Immies!  
P.S...The thing about Dilly's dislocated knee-cap/smashing it against a bed post...it's true. 


	30. Touchy

**CHAPTER 30: Touchy  
**_Eicys is jumpy, Wlore is snappish, Taras is worried, Ungrath is brooding, Cebu is upset, Eredolyn is guilty...

* * *

_

Cebu, Eicys and Wlore, banished a second time from the campsite, loitered some distance away, feeling useless and frustrated. Eicys had disappeared for a while, and come back in a high bad temper, looking hurt and sulky. Cebu tried to ask where she'd been, and, to her great surprise, nearly had her head bitten off. Eicys wasn't acting at all like herself – usually the two sisters were the best of friends.  
Cebu then attempted a conversation with Wlore, and wasn't terribly surprised when that failed, too. "Everyone's so touchy lately," she muttered.  
"Huh," growled Wlore. "This place is enough to make anyone… touchy." She scowled up at a tree. "Horrible forest."  
The tree creaked back at her menacingly. "Oh, shut up," snapped Wlore, and a surprised silence descended immediately. Cebu couldn't help a grin. Wlore gave an annoyed shrug, trying to hide how tense the dark, stifling woods made her feel.  
There was a rustle in the undergrowth, and Eredolyn shrugged her way through. "Her majesty says you can come back now," she told them dryly.

Two seconds later they were clustered around Dilly, asking nervous questions and commenting on how much better her shoulder looked already. Eredolyn, trailing behind them, grinned tiredly. Even Taras managed a brief, wan smile.  
"But she's so pale," Cebu said uncertainly. It was true: Dilly was not merely pallid, she was stark papery white, and cold. Cebu was reminded unwillingly of a corpse.  
"She lost a lot of blood," said Tuima, and the Immies turned to look at her oddly. The Elf's rigid control seemed to be slipping: she was actually mumbling. "I'll make an infusion… There are plants I can… Later." She climbed gracefully to her feet, muttered, "later," and glided off to a thick drift of leaves several yards away, where she folded limply into sleep.

"Is she all right?" Cebu asked in bewilderment.  
"Elvish healing is a bit different from ours," said Taras simply. He pushed his overgrown hair out of a pale face.  
"You should get some sleep too, Taras," Eredolyn accused, but he just shook his head.  
"I'm all right," he said, with a real smile this time. There was a collective weakening of knees. "I'd better go check the traps," he said, and moved to stand up. He hesitated. "You'll come get me if… anything happens?" They nodded.  
Taras smoothed Dilly's hair carefully out of her face, and lingered a moment looking down at her before he straightened, nodded at the Immies, and strode noiselessly into the forest. Someone sighed, and every girl was careful not to look at the others, in case it had been herself.  
"You know," said Cebu lightly, "It might be incredibly stupid of me, but I could almost wish I was in Dilly's place right now."

* * *

The mood in the camp was considerably improved after that – for all of half an hour. By then, the combination of cold, dirt, hunger, exhaustion, and worry had returned everyone – with the possible exception of Cebu, who had a disposition as cheerful as her hair – to the standard bad temper.  
Even Cebu, though, was not exactly chipper. The redhead always wanted everyone around her to be happy and get along, and the current hostile atmosphere grated at her nerves as she looked them over one at a time. 

The muscles in Wlore's thin arms stood out with suppressed tension and she looked up sharply at every groan from the looming trees. And after the third Immie, spurred on by the restless growling in one corner of the clearing, asked her how well she'd tied up the wargs, Wlore snapped and threatened to screw the head off the next person who even _mentioned_ knots. And when Eredolyn ventured to ask about the anatomical possibilities of head-unscrewing, Wlore hissed something about "ears make very good handles." Eredolyn retreated hastily.

Eredolyn herself managed to act relatively normal, but Cebu had watched her closely enough to know it was an act. Eredolyn's expression was eaten up with worry and guilt whenever she thought no one was looking, and she crouched unhappily next to the fire, fussing over Dilly and watching Taras pace. He had been almost desperate to be helpful, but the Immies had banished him from every task because the tension pouring off him was contagious. So he had been relegated to pacing next to the fire: four steps, stop, turn. Four steps, stop, turn. Four steps…  
"Taras, will you _stop_ that?" Wlore snapped suddenly. At a sharp glance from Cebu, she added a grudging, "Please."  
Taras stopped, and stood looking a little uncertain. Eventually he found a handy rock and sat down. His prison-pale face was an unhealthy grey in the forest's half-light and there were circles under his eyes, but he fidgeted restlessly. After a moment he stood up again. He caught Wlore's eye and sat down a second time, scowling.  
"Look, just… just add an extra step to it or something," said Wlore. "You're wearing a rut in the dirt."  
"Oh, forget it," Taras muttered dismissively. But barely two minutes later he was up again, and this time when he reached the fourth step he hesitated, and took another. He tried it again going the other way, then threw up his hands. "It's no good," he said. "I feel like I should have run into the wall."  
"There _isn't_ a wall," Wlore pointed out.  
Taras stared at nothing. "I know," he said quietly.  
Silence reigned for a moment. "Oh, never mind," sighed Wlore. "Pace all you want. I'm going to get some more firewood."  
"Watch out for the trees," said Cebu. "They get really… irritable… when Tuima's not around."  
"Huh. That _proves_ this place is mad." Wlore disappeared into the forest.  
Cebu and Eicys traded a rueful smile, but Eicys' was strained. Cebu's faltered as well. Ah yes. Eicys.

* * *

The youngest of the Immies didn't really seem any shorter-tempered than the rest of them at the moment – which wasn't saying much – but appearances can be deceiving. Cebu knew her sister, and this girl wasn't acting like her at all. She was willing to concede that a stint in the orc-barracks was enough to make someone jumpy – but _nothing_ ought to be able to make Eicys act the way she was. She was _brooding_. Eicys didn't brood, or sulk. She didn't snap at you for no reason and then stalk off without apologizing. And she didn't keep flinching or looking over her shoulder.  
The redhead finally pulled her sister aside, ignoring the jerky recoil when Cebu touched her arm. "Eicys," she said seriously, "Tell me what's wrong. Please."  
"There's nothi—"  
"Eicys." The word rang with Big Sister harmonics.  
Eicys sighed gustily. "Everything, I guess."  
"Everything _and_…?"  
Her little sister glowered at the forest floor. "Ungrath," she muttered.  
"Oh yeah," said Cebu. "I haven't seen him in a while – where is he?"  
"Out in the forest," Eicys mumbled. "Being a total jerk."  
Cebu blinked in confusion. "What happened?"  
"I went to go find him," Eicys said, looking her sister straight in the feet. "I've been worrying about him all day." She scowled. "He told me to go away. He _growled_ at me! He's acting like a – like – "  
"An orc?" Cebu said shrewdly.  
"Yes. No! Augh, I don't know!" Eicys clutched her hair, making the golden tangles stand on end. "There's something wrong with him, and I don't know what to do." She gave her sister a miserable glance. "He's the best friend I've ever had – he's saved my life probably twenty times over. And I – okay, don't freak out, Cebu – I just… See, he's…"  
"…You don't have a crush on him?" Cebu asked with flat horror.  
Eicys stared. "Ugh, _no_, Cebu. He's an _orc_."  
"Oh good," Cebu almost gasped. "You had me worried."  
"Yuck," said Eicys, looking revolted. "No… Yuck. What I was going to say is, well, I just don't feel comfortable without him around."  
"Oh," said Cebu. "_Why?_"  
"You've got to promise not to freak out," Eicys ordered her.  
"Um. Okay…"  
Eicys sighed. "See, orcs like to pick on whoever they can. And I was smaller than most of them, and not a very good fighter, so… so whenever Ungrath wasn't around to stop them…" She pushed up her sleeve and frowned absently at the horrible bruises mottling her arm. "You promised," she told her sister without looking up. 

Cebu's usually merry blue eyes were sparking with fury, but she took a deep breath and tried for a light tone when she said, "No wonder you're so jumpy." It came out tight and strained.  
"Yeah," said Eicys. "Sorry. It just got so that I can't relax unless he's around. I keep thinking someone's going to jump out at me or something. Stupid, I know."  
"No, not at all," Cebu said faintly, still choking on her anger.  
"I'm really worried about him," Eicys finished anxiously. "He looks so different… and now he's acting different, too."  
"Well… he has been through rather a lot."  
"Yeah," said Eicys, staring into the middle distance. "What do you think happened?"  
"I have no idea," Cebu said honestly. "It doesn't make any sense."  
Eicys sighed. "No. Nothing does, anymore."  
Cebu could only nod agreement. Her mind was racing: she knew she wasn't going to have any luck cheering up the Immies at a time when even civil conversation was a stretch, but she could at least make one person feel better. Or maybe two. And if that meant small talk with an orc, so be it.

* * *

Night drew on, engulfing the dark forest shadows in a deeper blackness. The Immies, determined not to have another night like the last, had heaped up an enormous pile of dried leaves and stocked up on firewood, and now the four human girls were huddled together, breathing steadily. Tuima lay a little distance away, wrapped in a cloak, stars and branches reflected alike in her unseeing eyes. Surprisingly, she didn't seem very cold. Taras, brooding with his back to the fire, decided it must be an Elvish thing and dismissed it. 

He looked down at Dilly, whose skin was rose and gold in the firelight. It looked real enough that he could ignore the marble whiteness that froze the shadows of her face, pretend he hadn't failed again…  
A twig snapped sharply. Taras melted away in a blur of speed, the subtle whisper of sword leaving sheath hanging in the air behind him.  
Ungrath stepped into the clearing.  
Taras, one more shadow among the trees, tightened his fingers around his sword hilt. Ungrath looked around suspiciously, clearly missing the Gondorian. He raised his head to sniff the air, and Taras tensed – but Ungrath stumbled back a step, clapping an enormous hand to his mouth to muffle his choking coughs. Taras caught a string of muttered oaths, and glanced at the pot of herbs that Tuima had left steaming by the fire before deciding enough was enough. He could have reached the orc in one swift movement – he'd positioned himself for that exact purpose – but instead he spoke.  
Ungrath almost fell over when the voice came out of nowhere: "What are you doing?" He looked around wildly until a shadow detached itself from the trees, and Taras stood in front of him, sword held loosely at his side.  
"Morgoth," Ungrath swore hoarsely. "What d'yeh want?"  
"What are you doing?"  
"I'm tired," the orc growled.  
Taras gave him a level look that said, "And…?"  
"The trees," Ungrath explained sullenly.  
_Of course_, Taras realized. The denizens of Fangorn were hardly likely to let an orc sleep peacefully in their midst – but they seemed to have decided that the rest of the Immies were tolerable.  
He hesitated, nodded, and stepped aside, sheathing his sword.  
"I'll stay here," grated Ungrath. He threw a sideways look at the pot of herbs. Taras gave him another fathomless look before moving back to the fire, and Dilly. Ungrath sat down at a safe distance from the nearest trees, where he hunched up small with his head on his knees.  
But unlike Taras, who was silent as snowfall even when he was pacing, Ungrath couldn't seem to keep quiet. His armor seemed almost absurdly oversized, and the thick iron plates clanked and scraped with every movement. Taras' eyes narrowed at him menacingly when Dilly stirred, and although the uruk glowered back, no one could beat Taras at glaring. The Prince's look was about as friendly as an Arctic sea.  
Ungrath settled in on himself, grumpily, and after an achingly long time fell into a doze. Barely half an hour later, he jerked awake again with a muffled yell. Taras didn't say anything and eventually the uruk dropped off again – only to wake a second time, breathing hard in what looked like real pain. After that he stayed awake, scowling between the trees overhead and the steaming herbs by the fire.  
Taras relented. His quiet voice broke the silence: "Are you cold?"  
Ungrath jerked around to look at him. "Hand an' Eye," he swore. "Don' you ever sleep?"  
"Apparently no more than you," said Taras lightly. He paused. "You can come sit by the fire if you want."  
"Generous of yeh," Ungrath growled, with a sarcasm to rival Tuima's. "I'll stay here, thanks."  
Taras' eyes glittered. "Suit yourself."  
When Ungrath finally fell asleep again, Taras was still sitting motionless, one hand holding Dilly's and the other resting on his sword hilt, his grey eyes thoughtful and troubled.

* * *

Dilly woke up the next morning. Consciousness returned in dizzy, creeping fragments, swimming through a dark grey fog.  
The first sensation to penetrate was cold – a thick, damp chill that made her limbs feel heavy and flaccid. But she'd barely had time to register this when the second feeling struck. Still only vaguely conscious, Dilly flinched. From the base of her skull clear to the ends of her fingers, she hurt. She really, really hurt. She felt like someone had tried to chop her in half. 

…Oh.

Sometimes metaphors come uncomfortably close to reality.  
But the dull fire that throbbed across half her body was slowly resolving itself into a concentrated line of pain across her shoulder, and it didn't seem quite as bad as she remembered.  
"Nn," said Dilly, and opened her eyes. For all of half a second she was staring up at the forest canopy, and then Taras was hovering over her, happy relief pouring off him like smoke.  
"Hi," croaked Dilly.  
"Hi," he said, sounding breathless and inane. "Ah – " he shook his head as if to clear it. "I mean, how are you feeling?"  
"Fine," she said hoarsely. "Much better." To his horror, she tried to sit up, and frowned. "My arm won't work."  
"It's not supposed to," he exclaimed. "Lay down."  
"I can't even lift it," she grumbled, annoyed at her limp, unresponsive limbs. She felt about as strong as an overcooked noodle, but managed to haul herself upright anyway. Taras caught her and tried to ease her back down on the makeshift bed they'd constructed, but it was too late: sitting up had catapulted the threatening nausea into her throat. "Oh no…" said Dilly, and threw up.

Fortunately there was almost nothing in her stomach except Tuima's herbs, but it was still thoroughly unpleasant. And every hiccuping jerk sent shards of pain lancing through her shoulder.  
"Are you all right?" Taras asked when she was finished.  
Dilly groaned. She was cradled against the chest of the single most incredible, attractive guy in two worlds, feeling like something the cat dragged in and probably smelling even worse, and was completely unable to do anything about it.  
She wiped her mouth shakily with her good arm and let Taras guide her gently back to the bed. "Sorry," she muttered.  
"Oh, for Manwe's sake…" He looked around, and saw that Ungrath was the only other person awake. The orc was blinking awkwardly in the early sunlight, and his armor clattered as he shivered. "Ungrath, get Tuima," Taras ordered.  
The uruk shook his head as if to clear it. "The Elf?" he asked, scowling at Taras' tone.  
"Yes. Now."  
Heavy fangs glinted briefly, but Ungrath clambered to his feet and stalked across the clearing to wake Tuima. Something about him was odd, but Taras was too busy with Dilly to pay attention.  
The dark-haired girl watched him with groggy suspicion as he fumbled a flask open clumsily. Taras was _never _clumsy. "When did you last sleep?" she demanded, but he just shrugged and smiled. A stifled yelp from across the clearing indicated that Tuima was awake, and another smile flitted across Taras' face. Waking up to Ungrath bending over you was enough to make you swear off sleeping forever. A moment later the Elf was kneeling next to him, and Taras sat back gatefully and let her take charge.  
And before the others had woken up, stiff and chilled but considerably more cheerful for a decent night's sleep, the color was returning to Dilly's face and he'd had to scold her three different times for trying to use her arm.

Nobody noticed that Ungrath had disappeared again.


	31. An Experiment Goes Wrong

**Muse Quest ****Chapter 31:  
An Experiment Goes Wrong  
**_In which Cebu's plan backfires rather badly_

_(A/N-Little bit of gore in this chapter, just a heads up in case you want to skim it.)

* * *

_

Ungrath tripped no less than seven times while battling his way through the dense forest. The trees hissed and sniggered to one another as yet another twisting root rose up to send him sprawling in a cacophony of oversized armor. The uruk picked himself up again, swearing under his breath, and shouldered his way through the clutching undergrowth.  
He stumbled suddenly into a bright, open clearing and had to throw a hand over his sensitive eyes, his curses growing louder. The trees creaked warningly, but the expecting grasping thorns didn't come. Ungrath cracked open one watering eye.

He was in a clear, grassy place ringed by trees like silvery sentinel pillars – beeches, though of course he didn't know that. In the middle of the clearing, apparently unfed by any stream, a pool threw off queer blue-and-gold glints. Everything was completely still; even the trees' rustling was muted. Ungrath blinked and shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't remember ever having been in a place in which he so obviously didn't belong. He should go – find a way out of this Void-cursed forest and strike out for… where?  
But – _Not yet _ , he begged internally._ I can't, not yet…I still don' know for sure _ . This was purest nonsense, and he knew it, but he still couldn't make himself keep going. Instead he looked around again, kicked the grass suspiciously, and sat down, looking mistrustful. The only soft surface in his experience was mud; everything in Orthanc was stone or iron. He looked down at the heavy metal sheets covering his limbs. Even him.  
Just then, another of the now-familiar bouts of pain shook through him. Ungrath yelled aloud, gripping the tender grass stems with frantic claws. At the end of it he was dazed and gasping. Weird fragments of memory flitted behind his eyes, and he was almost relieved not to recognize most of them. The ones he did recognize were horrible. The pain was getting worse too. And…  
…Ungrath raised a hand to his eyes and squinted at it uneasily. Sure enough, it looked different – even more than yesterday. He lifted his other hand and spread his fingers. Eventually he grunted and let both hands fall, but couldn't suppress a shudder. "Sharkey's ungrath…" he muttered to himself.

Trying to avoid the end of that thought, he began pushing all his oversized armor back into place, tugging the straps as tight as they would go. When he was finished, he swung an arm experimentally and was rewarded with the clang of a shoulder plate sliding down to catch on one of his vambraces. "Void take it!" he growled. He sat looking at his armor for a bit, then very reluctantly undid the many straps and buckles and shucked off every piece. Most of it was terribly dented, and some pieces had holes battered clean through.  
He paused when he came to his left vambrace. It was a tattered, jagged mess, more holes than metal, and dried blood covered it like macabre paint. Ungrath peeled it off carefully. When he saw what was underneath, he gave a little hiss. The whole length of his arm was mangled with long, pale scars, still raw and painful: it looked like a warg's chew toy. _Huh, no wonder I couldn' make it work_, he thought ruefully. _Shoulda carried a shield. _  
The absurdity of the whole situation struck him, and he even managed a sort of half-grin. But as he unbuckled the rest of his armor, he noticed more scars, and more, and more. His smile had died long ago; he was shivering a little, and not just from the cold.  
"Ungrath?"  
The uruk bolted to his feet, scattering the remaining armor. He looked around wildly.  
Cebu stood framed between two trees, staring at him. "Ungrath?" she asked again, nervously. "Is that you?"  
Ungrath jerked his head in a nod.  
"Oh," said Cebu, her voice high-pitched with nerves. "You look… different." He shrugged. "Um," said Cebu. "Well. I just… um." She cast about awkwardly. "What is this place?"  
Ungrath shrugged again.  
"Oh."  
_I've had better ideas_, Cebu thought, searching desperately for a tactful way to bring up the topic she wanted. Ungrath was giving her a Look. _Go away _ , it said. It practically shouted, in fact. Cebu had to fight the urge to bolt. Instead she just blurted it out: "I came to ask if you'll come and talk to Eicys."  
He looked suspicious. "Why?"  
Cebu jumped a little – even his voice was different. "Well – I've been worried about her," she said, and was taken aback at the vehemence of Ungrath's reaction.  
"Why?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"  
"Well… nothing, really. She's just acting really strange, not like herself at all. Really nervous and snappy. She says she's worried about you."  
Ungrath's gaze, which had been directed over Cebu's head towards the campsite, returned to her face with a bump. "Abou' me ?" he echoed. "Why?"  
"Well, you haven't exactly been reassuring to be around since the escape," Cebu said mildly. Then she added with a trace of accusation, "She said you told her to go away."  
"I haven' felt much like talkin' lately," the uruk said pointedly, looking threatening.  
"No, probably not," Cebu agreed, and Ungrath blinked, unused to that sort of calm response. The redhead waited until she judged him to have gathered most of his wits back together, then said, "But you should probably talk to her anyway. I mean, you're her best friend, right?" and watched them all fly to pieces again. Suspicion and disbelief and… something else… chased one another across his ugly face. Watching him, Cebu suddenly decided that Ungrath needed cheering up just as much as Eicys did, orc or no. And so, fully aware that Eicys would kill her if she found out, Cebu said, "It would really mean a lot to her. She says she never feels comfortable anymore unless you're around."  
Ungrath's expression crystallized into that of someone who'd just been hit very hard over the head. "What?" he asked blankly. There was a frightening undertone to the word.  
"Well, you saved her life all those times…" Good night, the uruk actually looked embarrassed . But also… "Are you sure you're all right?" Cebu asked. He nodded absently. "So… are you going to come back, then?"  
"I can't ," Ungrath said without thinking, and his face was a nightmare.  
"Why not?"  
"I can't!" he almost howled. "I won't! _Khardik_ , it's hard enough leavin' wi'out this, an' you, an' – her . Leave me alone, can't yeh?"  
"Leaving?" Cebu echoed timidly. "Where are you going?"  
"Away," he snarled.  
"But the trees – they'll kill you!"  
"Good," he said fiercely. "Better dead than – than… _K'sagrakh dhag akazhar _ …" The trees moaned out their fear and hatred at the sound of the Black Speech. Cebu shrank.  
"What's that mean?" she whispered.  
Ungrath's terrifying face twisted furiously. "Look at me," he snarled. "I was dead, right? Do I look dead? Do I even look anythin' like I used to?"  
Cebu shook her head mutely.  
"An' d'yeh want t' know what happened last time I started lookin' different?"  
Cebu looked into his incongruous eyes and saw the answer there. She didn't. She really didn't want to know. But the question came out anyway, albeit in a whisper. "What happened?"  
Ungrath stared at her. "I went wrong," he said at last, flatly. "Now leave me alone."  
"But…" Cebu tried in a small voice.  
Ungrath took a step toward her, ugly as the pits of Angband and twice as scary. "I said once I wasn' gonna kill anyone else, an' I've broke it a'ready," he growled. "An' when I go like las' time I won' have a choice. So you'd better get outta here now ." Cebu took a step backwards, then another.  
"You wouldn't really…?"  
"Morgoth, why d'yeh think I'm leavin'?" Ungrath laughed unpleasantly at the look on her face. "Looks like the experiment worked after all, hey?"  
"Experiment?" quavered Cebu.  
Ungrath's eyes went flat. "Enough," he said. "Go away, Cebu."  
Cebu stayed in place with an effort. "What about Eicys?  
Fangs glinted as he opened his mouth and shut it again, defeated. "What about her?" he managed, callously.  
"I think you owe her an explanation if you're just taking off like that."  
"Void – I don' owe nobody nothin' ." He gestured at his mangled arm, and Cebu's curls stood on end as she caught sight of those awful scars.  
"What – " she started.  
"I said git out!" snarled Ungrath, the orcish accent pronounced.  
"But – " she tried again.  
"Now!" he roared, and it was a roar, a deafening animal noise, black with the promise of blood and pain. Fear of that sort of sound is ingrained so deep in the human psyche that Cebu almost fell over in her haste to get away.  
And Ungrath sat down heavily on the grass, his head in his hands, sick with despair.

* * *

"Cebu!" Eicys gasped as her sister came scrambling back into camp. "What's wrong? What happened?"  
Cebu stood there, trying to get her breath back. "Ungrath."  
"What? What happened?"  
"He – Oh, gosh, I almost had a heart attack, Eicys. He's gone completely insane!"  
Eicys was unpleasantly aware of the others listening in. "What happened?" she asked yet again.  
"He's lost it! He says he's going off on his own and not coming back – "  
"What! "  
"—he kept talking about 'going bad' again – "  
"He'll get killed , Cebu!"  
" – he said he was going to kill me !"  
Eicys stopped with her mouth still open, dumbstruck. "What?" she managed at last. "Why would he say that?" Behind her, the Immies traded deeply uneasy glances.  
"He wanted me to go away… I kept asking him questions and he got mad…" Cebu said, still panting.  
"He never did like questions," Eredolyn muttered to no one in particular.  
"About what?" Eicys asked.  
"I don't know!" Cebu wailed. "Something about an experiment – I don't know what he was talking about – I was just trying to convince him not to leave…" Taras made a sudden movement and subsided again. Eicys had her fingers in her mouth. "What did he mean, experiment?" Cebu asked, calming down slightly.  
Eicys looked around. All the Immies were gathered around, listening avidly; even Dilly was propped up and looking curious. "He… Saruman did something – I don't know what, but it was pretty awful. And now…" She clenched her jaw in a way that promised trouble.  
"I'm going to go talk to him."  
There was an immediate outcry. "Are you mad?" Taras demanded, steely fire still smoldering in his eyes. "I wouldn't trust Saruman if he'd been dead and buried for three Ages, and now he's been meddling with Death itself – "  
"I didn't say – "  
"What other explanation is there? That orc – "  
"Ungrath ."  
"He was dead , Valar take it! And now we know why, and even he says he's … going wrong again, and you want to go have a nice friendly chat?" Wlore jerked her head in terse agreement while Tuima folded her arms and pinned Eicys with a 'don't-be-an-idiot' stare.  
"Yes," snapped Eicys. "I do. And I am. Goodbye." And she whirled and stomped away into the brush.  
The Immies stared. Then Taras slid his sword out of its sheath. "I'm going after her," he said.  
Dilly coughed. Taras turned to look at her. "You don't think I should?" he asked. He looked bewildered and betrayed, and therefore angry.  
"Eicys has been able to take care of herself around orcs for a month. She'll be fine," said Dilly.  
Taras' lips tightened. His whole upbringing dictated that he was responsible for the group's safety, and that orcs in general – and deathless uruks in particular – definitely construed a threat to that safety.  
"Look, Taras…" Dilly paused. "Hey, do you guys mind if I talk to Taras for a bit?" she asked rather awkwardly, cursing the way she couldn't even stand up for a normal conversation.  
The Immies looked at each other and drifted off. Cebu hesitated for a while before leaving, wound up tight as a child's top with anxiety over Eicys.  
Dilly was anxious, too, but she thought something ought to be sorted out first. "Can't you give him a break?" she asked as Taras sat down next to her.  
The Gondorian blinked. "Dilly. It's an orc ."  
"Hey, I'm not saying you have to be best friends or anything, but Ungrath saved all our lives. Give him a little credit."  
"And ignore the fact that he just threatened your friend?"  
Dilly looked troubled, but said, "If all that had happened to you, wouldn't you be on edge? Come on, Taras – he died to get us out. We wouldn't have lasted three seconds without him."  
"I could've – "  
"Yes, probably. But you weren't there." Dilly looked at Taras narrowly. "You're still beating yourself up about that, aren't you?" she asked.  
"What? No! I just… I…" Taras looked away. "I didn't want to leave you alone, you know," he whispered.  
"I know," she said. "But you didn't – I already told you. Ungrath took care of us."  
"But – you…" He gestured to her shoulder.  
"He was busy saving Tuima and Wlore. And two seconds later he'd picked me up with one hand and was fighting off orcs with the other, and then he held them all off while we escaped. He isn't the most… pleasant sorta guy, but Eicys knows him best and she trusts him – can't you?"  
"You can't trust someone just because you think you know them," said Taras, his voice ominously toneless.  
Dilly paused. A little half-smile crossed her face, broken by a grimace as she reached over to take Taras' hand. He immediately shifted closer so that she wouldn't strain her shoulder. Dilly looked down at his long-fingered hand wrapped around her smaller one, and with that smile still playing across her face she said, "I trusted you, didn't I?"  
She looked up and the smile broadened. Taras was looking thoroughly startled. He obviously hadn't considered it that way before. After a moment he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Dilly closed her eyes contentedly and lay back, marveling at how dense men could be at times.

* * *

Ungrath didn't move for a long, long time. He knew perfectly well what he had to do, but he was almost paralyzed with not wanting to. Eventually, though, he pulled himself to his feet, kicked an abandoned greave out of the way, and knelt down by the pool for a drink before he left. It was surprisingly deep, an endless celestial blue beneath its silvery sheen. Ungrath paused, staring at the water.  
The surface was mirror-smooth, but it wasn't his face reflected in it.  
Saruman the White gazed out calmly at his creation, smiling that cold, satisfied smile that was Ungrath's first – and worst – memory.  
Ungrath yelled in shock, and a ripple crossed the image, though there was no wind. It dissipated to show a village of crude stone huts surrounding a muddy rut of a street, and wild-looking men standing in a group, fighting. The image changed again, to a young woman with paper-white skin and inky hair, her eyes as dark as tragedy, desperately trying to ward off an onrushing scimitar that looked just like Ungrath's. And then her hair swirled over her face in an ebony tide, and the red smoky light of torches gleamed out of the blackness. There was a dark room, deep underground, dominated by a massive, bloodstained table. Torchlight gleamed on iron chains, and a brazier full of herbs gave off dark, greasy smoke.  
Ungrath shoved himself violently away from the pool, but pain was already curling around him in white-hot tendrils. He gritted his teeth, but this time it didn't end. Waves of agony ripped through him again and again; he was curled up on the grass, screaming, screaming till he thought his throat would tear, completely blind with pain.  
And the water's smooth surface rippled serenely through a series of images…  
A young man, just out of boyhood, with bloody fists, with torchlight and terror reflected in his eyes. Eicys, streaked with black gore, sobbing uncontrollably. The wizard like a gleam of cold flame, leaning on his staff and telling his orc-captain to keep the body. Bright sunlight in a stone quarry. And then again the dark room and now the scent of herbs and fear was tangible in the air.  
Ungrath had no more breath for screaming; he gasped, choked at the smell of herbs, gasped again. The smoky image of Orthanc's torture chamber faded, turned again to the young man, and as the darkness of death clouded his terrified eyes, it slowly disappeared.

* * *

Eicys was pushing her way through a thicket when all around her the trees seemed to tense. Half an instant later she was hit by a veritable wall of sound. It tore through her ears in keening bursts of agony: the reckless screams of an animal in pain. But Eicys recognized the guttural undertone to the roar…  
"Ungrath!" she yelled, battling frantically with the clutching branches. "I'm coming! Hold on!"  
The cry cut off suddenly. With her heart in her mouth, Eicys tore free of the undergrowth and burst into a beautiful, silent clearing.  
Ungrath was curled next to a silver pool, looking strangely small without his armor. His breath came in great shuddering gasps and his shoulders shook. He moaned faintly and tried to get up; muscles shifted beneath his ragged tunic as he forced himself onto hands and knees, then collapsed again, face-down.  
Eicys rushed forward and grabbed his shoulder. He shrugged her off and once again struggled onto hands and knees, his head hanging with exhaustion.  
Then he lifted it, and looked at her.  
A strangled cry of shock was ripped from Eicys' throat. She fell over backwards, gasping, and scrabbled away desperately when he reached out a hand. There was an unpleasant dark fog eating away at the corners of her eyesight, but she managed to gather together enough presence of mind to choke out a terrified, "Who are you?"  
"What?" The word was hoarse. "Eicys – "  
"Get away!" Eicys cried in a kind of gasping shriek. More of the black fog intruded on her vision as he stood up, staggered, fell over again. Of all the idiotic – I think I'm going to faint! Eicys squeezed her eyes tight shut and gritted her teeth. When the world stopped spinning she opened her eyes again and looked at the person in front of her.  
He was horribly ugly – for a human. For an orc, he was… well, un-orclike, which is the best thing a member of that race could aspire to. Smooth brown skin had replaced mottled grey-red. His teeth were oversized and pointed, and his nose looked half-crushed, but it was definitely a human face.  
And he had Ungrath's eyes.  
"Ungrath?" she quavered. "That's not you, is it?"  
"It's me," he panted. "You a'right?"  
"I'm fine," lied Eicys, her voice a little too high. "You just… startled me…" She shook her head to clear it. "It's really you? What happened? "  
"I dunno," he mumbled. "I thought tha'… tha' I… was…" He trailed off. He was staring at his hands, eyes huge. "Oh, Valar," he breathed, the first time Eicys had ever heard the word from an orc.  
Except Ungrath wasn't an orc anymore.  
Still staring at his hands as if transfixed, Ungrath's next question came out with an edge of desperation. "What's goin' on?" he choked, and now he was looking down at himself, frantically touching chest, face, limbs. "What's goin' on?" he demanded again, wildly.  
Eicys crawled over and put her arms around him. Ungrath went rigid.  
"It's okay," murmured Eicys. "It's okay, Ungrath."  
"I dunno what's happening," he mumbled, still stiff and shaking.  
"It doesn't matter," she said. "Everything's going to be fine. It's all okay."  
Ungrath shuddered, but Eicys felt him slowly turning back from cold iron to warm flesh. She hugged him tighter, reassuringly, and he shuddered again but tentatively put his arms around her and gathered her close.  
Eicys stayed that way, tucked beneath his chin with her face against his chest and her hands barely able to meet at his back, even though his armor was gone. She felt quiet, warm, and blissfully safe. It had been so long since she felt really safe... But she was surprised that Ungrath would let it go on so long. Usually he jumped at the merest touch.  
Then she became aware of a wet patch on her shoulder, and went stiff out of sheer amazement. Ungrath let go of her hastily and dragged a harsh hand over his eyes, but Eicys had seen enough.  
Ungrath was crying. 


	32. An Experiment Goes Right

**Muse Quest Chapter 32: An Experiment Goes Right  
_In which Ungrath receives a shock and Taras shows off his juggling_**

_Er... hey folks! Long time no see! Granted, that's entirely my fault. Is sheepish Many, many apologies. I don't even have a decent excuse. BUT, we have yet to equal the updating gap of Lady Coralie, whom we still -- against all sense -- have not yet given up on. So there. (psst, Lady Coralie -- did you catch that? Okay, good, just checking. It was a hint, you realize. A blatant one.) Ahem. CHAPTER 32  
Recap... _  
_...Then Eicys became aware of a wet patch on her shoulder, and went stiff out of sheer amazement. Ungrath let go of her hastily and dragged a harsh hand over his eyes, but she had seen enough.  
Ungrath was crying _.

* * *

Eicys felt her heart crack. She reached out a hand again, but Ungrath jerked backwards at her touch as though he'd been stung. "Oh, don't ," she cried miserably. Ungrath wiped his face with an arm and looked away, humiliated.  
"Sorry," he mumbled.  
Eicys sighed. "Are you all right?"  
He looked down at himself and said in a deceptively steady voice, "Yeah, I think so. Doesn' hurt anymore." He flexed his fingers. "I… look different…"  
"Human," offered Eicys.  
He looked up, and his expression was hunted. "Don't," he growled.  
"You do!" she protested.  
"_Khardik_ , Eicys," he swore in the Black Speech. "Don't . I'm an orc. "  
Eicys fell silent, unsure of how to contradict him when he was already so off-balance.  
After a long moment, Ungrath looked up, his face still twisted with shame, and muttered, "Sorry," a second time.  
Eicys nodded. After a while, she cleared her throat and said softly, "Ungrath, you really do look human now." His gaze dropped to his hands, and then away. "Why won't you believe me?" she asked.  
There was a long pause. At last Eicys sighed and started to say something else, but was interrupted: "First," growled Ungrath, "'Cause it's impossible."  
"So is coming back from the dead," Eicys interjected.  
He glared. "It's impossible because the only explanation for this is Sharkey's… meddling. An' nothin' good ever comes outta tha' wizard's work."  
"That's not true. You came out of it."  
"Thanks," snarled Ungrath, and added, "An' that proves it."  
"Ungrath!"  
"Second," he said, hesitated, started to say something, and stopped again. Eventually he clenched his fists and said, "Look, just trust me on this, a'right? I couldn' be aythin' but an orc. I've done… some awful stuff…"  
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ungrath," said Eicys. "I know you. You wouldn't hurt anyone." His expression brought her up short. "…Would you?"  
Ungrath looked away, which was answer enough. "Third," he said with an obviously painful effort, "Somethin' like this has happened t' me before, an' it wasn' pretty. I went… sorta crazy."  
Eicys hesitated. "What do you mean?" she asked, and watched uneasily as Ungrath's familiar brown eyes darkened with the shadows dancing in his memory.  
"I…was…" _Half-mad with pain and terror – that smooth dark icy voice, a welter of confusion, horror, raging fury… _  
"Ungrath?"  
His eyes snapped back into focus, but the shadows were still hovering behind them. "I went wrong, a'right?" he said. "Sharkey was thrilled, thought for a while I'd turned out perfect, until I…" He swallowed. "There was this girl, she looked like you, but she had long black hair, like ink, an' these… eyes…" Ungrath shuddered, and looked away. There was a terrible silence. "You still goin' t' tell me I'm human now?" he asked dully.  
There was a long silence. "Why didn't you tell me before?" asked Eicys.  
"Ha," said Ungrath bitterly, still not looking at her. His matted black hair swung down to hide his face; Eicys could be sure only of a gleam of eyes. Slowly she reached out to touch his shoulder. He flinched, turning hard as stone beneath her fingers. Eicys tilted her head, trying to see his face. It was dirty and ugly, but definitely human, and her friend's familiar eyes looked out of it, even if they wouldn't meet her own.  
"Ungrath," she said slowly, "Did you like killing?"  
He looked at her now. "No ," he snarled.  
"Then why?"  
He shrugged her hand away and spat out a single word. "Sharkey."  
"The experiment?" He didn't answer. "That's why you've been avoiding us," she persisted. "You thought it was happening again?"  
"Feels just like last time," he mumbled by way of explanation.  
Eicys remembered that horrible agonized scream, and the sight of her friend curled up small, shuddering with pain – her friend who'd shaken off injuries that should have killed him.  
Injuries that _had _ killed him.  
She felt ill.  
"Ungrath – it's not happening again," she said quietly, fiercely. His lips thinned. "I can prove it," she said. "Come look at your reflection."  
To her enormous surprise, Ungrath shook his head violently. "Ohh, no," he said. "I'm not lookin' in there again."  
Eicys was bewildered. "Why not?"  
"There's somethin' wrong with tha' water," he said.  
"It's perfectly normal water," Eicys began, leaning to look in the pool. Ungrath gave a stifled sort of shout and scrambled around to block her, throwing the shining surface a wary glance before looking back to Eicys.  
He froze, eyes still on her face.  
He blinked once or twice, swallowed, and very slowly turned his head back to the water. Eicys craned over his shoulder.  
"See?" she said. "A perfectly normal reflection, in perfectly normal water."  
"I don' look like tha'," said Ungrath hoarsely.  
"Actually you do."  
Ungrath sank to his knees on the pebbled bank and stared. Eicys' reflection smiled broadly right next to his for a long while, but eventually she gave his shoulder an impatient little poke. He jumped and ripped his eyes away from the pool to meet hers.  
"Well?" said Eicys.  
He wore an expression of wild hope barely held in check. He looked battered and dazed and disbelieving. "I – I don' look like tha'," he said raggedly, and Eicys gave him her most exasperated look.  
"Just admit it," she said. "I was right. You're human."  
The light in his eyes flickered out, and he said in a low, harsh voice, "Eicys, I told you what I did – "  
"Yes you did," said Eicys. "And that's proof you're not an orc. You've never acted like an orc if you had any choice in the matter. You think you'd be my friend if that weren't true?"  
He managed a crooked smile. "I always thought you had rotten judgment."  
"Ungrath," Eicys said seriously. "You're the best friend I've ever had."  
Ungrath stopped, and his eyes found hers. And to Eicys' relief he didn't scoff or argue this time; he just stared at her, as though searching for something. After a very long moment, he said quietly, "Thank you." His eyes were subtly brighter. "Er, I've never had any other friends, so it doesn' mean much for me t' say it back," he said self-deprecatingly, and that tiny little crooked grin crossed his face again, snapping the tension into little sparkling shards.  
Eicys nearly laughed out loud with relief. "I've missed you, Ungrath," she said impulsively.  
The smile widened imperceptibly. "Missed you too," he muttered.  
Eicys beamed, and settled back on her heels. Whatever her friend might look like, some things would never change. She was just glad to see that the little gleam in his eyes was back. She took a deep breath and hoped that her next words weren't going to lead to it fading again. "So – are you ready to go back to the others?"

* * *

Taras and Dilly were fighting.  
That is to say, they were throwing clumps of grass and leaves at one another, with Taras suffering from strangely bad aim unless Dilly used her bad arm, in which case he always scored a direct hit.  
Eredolyn rolled her eyes. Taras obviously hadn't caught on to an essential Dilly-ism: she did not appreciate being coddled. She was therefore using her bad arm as much as possible, to make Taras fight back for real. But Taras wasn't stupid; he quickly figured out what was happening, and responded perfectly.  
A flurry of missiles exploded around Dilly's face. She yelped and hurriedly switched to her right arm so that she could pay him back properly. The barrage went on until the whole area was denuded of leaves and small-scale vegetation, and Dilly was breathless with laughter. Taras beamed, his usual stern reserve melting away completely: sea-grey eyes danced with delight. He loved hearing Dilly laugh – for three years he'd craved nothing so much as honest human laughter, and somehow Dilly's was better than anyone else's. 

A few yards away, Eredolyn and Cebu each caught the other staring dreamily. Cebu burst out laughing, and Eredolyn rolled her eyes, grinning broadly. "Fair's fair," she sighed with mock resignation. "And it's not like we'd stand a chance."  
"Yeah," said Cebu, "but sometimes I wonder how come I couldn't have been stuck in the cell across from Taras."  
Eredolyn tried to look long-suffering while wearing an enormous grin, and failed miserably. The two of them wandered off and were promptly caught by Tuima, who was making dinner. "Rabbit food," they sighed, a term long since coined by Wlore to describe the Immies' scant, foul-tasting food supply of boiled bark, roots, and leaves. The Rohirric girl looked up with a wry grin; she'd been put to work as well.  
"Rabbit food," she agreed, then triumphantly held up a sad, bloody wad of fur. "And rabbit!"  
Eredolyn looked slightly nauseous. "Oh, man," said Cebu in an odd little voice. "You killed Thumper!"  
It is a terrible thing to see a hot-tempered Rohirric shieldmaiden, bloody to the wrists, giving you a look of puzzled, injured innocence while a rabbit head swings obscenely from one hand. Eorlingas really are no good at looking innocent. "It got caught in one of Taras' traps," she said. "I thought Tuima could – sorry , Tuima – I thought we could all pitch in and make some stew." She saw the two girls still staring queasily at the limp, headless rabbit. "Unless you'd rather eat warg?" she finished.  
Eorlingas are no good at sounding innocent, either.  
The two girls glanced over at the tethered wargs, around which a cloud of flies buzzed. Ropes of drool hung from yellow fangs; their coarse coats were matted with Eru knew what filth. Two were fighting, and one was scratching some unknowable gangrenous patch on its snout.  
"Thumper for dinner," Cebu agreed immediately. "I'll go take care of the boiled roots, shall I?"  
"Right this way," Tuima said blandly.

* * *

"They won't," Ungrath said stubbornly yet again.  
"They will. They're my friends. It's not like they're going to bite your head off."  
"Eicys, you didn' even recognize me," he pointed out.  
"Yes I did," she argued lamely. "It just… took me a minute."  
"A minute of bein' scared outta your mind. You think the tark will bother wi' tha'? I'd be gettin' my neck introduced to tha' sword of his within half a second. An' I left my scimitar in Orthanc." He sounded rather disappointed about this.  
"You know, you're not going to make Taras your friend by calling him orc-names," said Eicys irrelevantly. She'd been watching her friend's face, and had caught that little flicker when he mentioned her reaction.  
"I don' want Taras for a friend," growled Ungrath, his eyes hard with dislike.  
"Oh, for the love of – Just give him a chance," said Eicys.  
"I will if he will."  
"He's a really nice guy," she protested.  
He slanted her an odd look. "You like him?"  
"Of course! He's very smart and polite, he's absolutely incredible with a sword, he's…"  
"Handsome?" suggested Ungrath shrewdly.  
Eicys turned red. "I was going to say, he just… holds everyone together. You know? You can tell he's a prince. He's a good leader." She resisted a childish urge to say so there , and changed the subject instead. "How about if I go in and talk to everyone before you come out?"  
"An' what'll you tell them?" Ungrath asked. "I don' even know what happened, except tha' it's Sharkey's fault, an' tha's not goin' to go down too well."  
"Ungrath," Eicys said, "You know Saruman didn't mean for this to happen."  
"Yeah, an' I'm sure tellin' them I'm a wizard's mistake will go down even better," he retorted.  
Eicys paused. "I'll figure it out," she said. "They'll understand."  
"They won't," he said again.  
"Un-grath!"  
He sighed, and sat down. Eicys massaged her neck absently, glad that she didn't have to keep staring up anymore. "I'll just wait here, then," he said. His tone was reasonable enough, but Eicys was reminded of what a long and terrible day he'd had. He still looked exhausted.  
She nodded, and took a few steps in the direction of the campsite before pausing to look back. "Um, I'm really sorry about… earlier. When I didn't recognize you, I mean."  
There was that flicker again, but Ungrath looked away hurriedly and shrugged his shoulders. "Don' worry abou' it," he said casually.  
Eicys hesitated a second longer, but simply said, "I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere."  
He gave her another crooked smile and an expressive look at the trees, which were still creaking menacingly every time he moved.  
"Oh," said Eicys. "Right. Well, I'll be back in just a minute, okay? I'll see you soon." And with a last reassuring smile she disappeared into the forest.  
Ungrath sat back, listening to her footsteps fade away. His gaze dropped to his hands, jerked hurriedly away, and then slowly and unwillingly came back again. After a long moment, he got up and looked in the pool again. He had to clench his teeth against the shock, even though he'd seen it before: a human face looked back at him, all light coppery skin and oversized, nervous brown eyes. It was a very ugly face, but nowhere near as bad as it had been.  
"All right," he said aloud. "What's goin' on, an' why?"  
Nothing happened. The water continued to reflect his strange new face. At last Ungrath sat back, staring at his hands again and straining for a memory, a flicker – anything that would explain what was happening to him.  
There was nothing. The events surrounding the experiment were – thankfully – a hazy horrible blur, and before the experiment there was a blank wall, and nothing more. The furthest back he could remember…  
_And so, my new young _ungrath, let us experiment. Let us see what can be done in the face of Death…   
Ungrath was jerked away from the memory with an involuntary yell as a coil of pain rolled up his spine. Then there was another of them, and another. "Oh, Valar, no," he begged aloud in sudden realization. "Not again…" But there was nothing he could do except curl up tight against the growing agony and grit his teeth to hold back screams.  
The screams made it out anyway.

* * *

Back at camp, Taras was trying to convince Dilly to lie down again, and not doing too well. Dilly was strong, stubborn, and thoroughly sick of sleeping. Eventually Taras resorted to bribery.  
"Go to sleep, and when you wake up I'll… I'll, er…" He cast about for a means of entertaining the unwilling invalid. "Juggle for you," he finished, without much hope of success.  
But Dilly looked intrigued. "You can juggle ? Really?" He nodded. "Weird," she said, and then corrected herself, "I mean – I wouldn't have ever thought you were the type." She began unconsciously working on a braid: a nearly incessant habit even when she had been back in civilization with all its luxuries, like rubber bands. But now she had only one hand available, and her hair was sticky with blood and festooned with what appeared to be the entire forest floor. She gave up rather quickly, disgruntled.  
"Juggle first, and then I'll go to sleep," she bargained, contenting herself with tucking her thick hair behind her ears.  
Taras scowled. Dilly smiled. "Promise?" Taras said sternly. She nodded, and he began gathering a handful of small pebbles. When he had enough he straightened, frowned for a moment as if thinking, and with a flick of his wrist sent four of them into a steady rise and fall over one hand. "Why don't I seem the type?" he asked curiously.  
"Because, sir Taras," Dilly said with a very nearly straight face, "you have always been very careful of your own dignity."  
He put his free hand over his heart and staggered backward theatrically, his expression injured. The pebbles never faltered.  
"I'm certain that juggling can be good practice for a swordsman," Taras said. "Dexterity and… whatever." He snapped his wrist upwards, sending the pebbles soaring high. "And as for dignity," he said, and flipped a few extra pebbles up to join their friends, "we of the Isle of the Star are so far above mere mortals" – here he stuck his nose in the air and gave Dilly a haughty look – "that now we have to be very careful that nothing tips us off our pedestal."  
Dilly laughed. She'd never seen Taras so light-hearted as in the past hour. Taras himself flashed her a brilliant grin. "So you'd better not tell any of my regiment about this," he warned.  
"You said it was good practice," Dilly countered. "Haven't they ever seen you do it before?"  
Taras shook his head: "I've never juggled before," he said.  
"Ha, ha."  
"What?"  
"You've never juggled before, but you can do that ?"  
He looked faintly puzzled. "It's just control, and watching the pebbles properly. You don't even have to move your hands much, see?"  
Dilly's astonishment slowly slid into a little half-admiring, half-challenging smile that went fizzing through Taras' blood like one of Mithrandir's famous fireworks. "What else can you do?" she asked, and Taras abruptly found himself wanting to show off. He was mildly astonished at this: he had always been rather reserved.  
"Watch," he told Dilly, before good sense could interfere. He caught the soaring pebbles in one hand and scooped up a few more. Then he spread his feet and took a deep breath. He bounced the stones in his palm a few times, every muscle tensed, before tossing the fistful flat-handed into the air so that small stones flew in every direction.  
Taras literally blurred. His long black hair snapped behind him. Dilly bit back a cry and found the young Gondorian on his knee next to her, snatching the final pebble out of the air inches before it hit the ground.  
"Holy Hannah," Dilly squeaked. Taras stood up, poured all the pebbles into one hand, and stashed them in a pocket. Three or four promptly fell through a hole. Taras gave an exasperated smile and shook his ragged shirt until the others pattered through as well.  
"How did you do that?" Dilly demanded. Taras shrugged, secretly pleased. She rocked back. "Do it again. I blinked and missed the whole thing!"  
His eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. "The lady made a promise," he said austerely.  
"I don't know any ladies," retorted Dilly. Taras folded his arms. Dilly copied him exactly. A staring match ensued. Dilly had always thought she was good at these, but Taras could probably outstare a mirror, and eventually she had to give up. She was just lying down – with much grumbling, mostly for the look of the thing – when there was a happy cry from Cebu.  
"Eicys! Is everything all right?"  
Dilly promptly sat up again, causing Taras to run a hand through his hair until it stuck in every direction.  
"Absolutely," smiled Eicys, as she emerged from the tangled forest. "Man, do I have a lot to tell you guys..." 


	33. New Faces

**Muse Quest - Chapter 33: New Faces  
_Being the Tale of five fanatics, their companions, their adventures, and their angst._**

_Hello friends! Hey! Don't look at us like that! Sure...we've returned from the dead but we're still the same old Immies you know and love. Life's crazy-level notch jumped up a few notches...or ten. Cebu just wrapped up her 2nd year of college, Ere just started a new college semester at a new school, Tuima is off having a blast camping in a mostly water-proof tent in Wales/Scotland/Germany/London and Dilly is living the interesting life in China so I think we've earned a little leeway. It's been tough emailing back and forth but we have a couple more completed chapters. Thanks for staying with us! Much love to you all!  
Love the Immies_

The Immies milled about, sniffing happily at the stew (the wargs were drooling the ground around themselves into mud) and talking quietly. No one quite knew what to make of Eicys' story, though Dilly, Cebu, and Eredolyn obviously had far less trouble with it than the others: their thoughts were running along the rather resigned track of, "hey, why not? Everything else that's happened so far is impossible, too."  
But Eicys had left to get Ungrath a long while ago, and still wasn't back, so everyone was keeping busy with the usual tasks. Taras had appealed to Tuima, and Dilly had with bad grace taken a drink of something dark brown and evil-smelling, which gave the drinker the impression that their teeth had dissolved and were now coated on the throat lining. But despite the astringent taste, it had dulled the pain in her shoulder and was making her very drowsy. She was therefore staying awake.  
"What did you put in this?" she asked Tuima, still grimacing. "Nettles?"  
"Yes."  
Dilly stared at her a moment. "It's got_ nettles _in it?"  
Tuima wasn't listening. She touched Taras lightly on the shoulder and drew back with a hiss as he said, very quietly, "Someone's coming."

It was amazing how Taras could command attention when he wanted to. Conversation ceased. "Eicys and Ungrath," Eredolyn reminded him, but uncertainly, because Taras had his sword out. No one had even seen him unsheathe it. He was at the edge of their little clearing, peering into the tangled dark of Fangorn.  
"No..." Tuima explained absently. "Listen. That's not Ungrath's voice."  
There was a pause. None of the others could hear anything. They watched Taras instead: his posture spoke volumes. There was an instant where he went strangely stiff before very slowly lowering his sword. Even more slowly, he stepped back and turned to face the Immies, wearing the perfectly controlled expression that Dilly knew was a bad sign.  
"Eicys is back," he said blandly. "She brought him back with her." He strode away to stand strategically behind the group, so as to keep everyone in sight.  
"It's not Ungrath," objected Tuima irritably. She gestured at the trees. "They're confused. If it were the orc, they would be angry, hostile. I've been spending half my time here just trying to stop them killing him." Taras grunted. Several of the girls looked up apprehensively at the tangled branches. Then there was a call from Eicys, and a moment later she and Ungrath appeared in a gap between two trees.  
Silence settled slowly over the little group. A canteen slipped from Cebu's nerveless fingers and landed with an alarmingly loud noise amid Eicys' discarded armor, but no one even glanced over.  
"Ungrath," hissed Eicys meaningfully. Her friend, lurking in the shadows in an unsuccessful attempt to remain unseen, drew back a little further. The Immies' eyes followed him. Eicys reached for his hand, but he jerked it away and sidled with extreme reluctance into the open clearing. He stood there, his shoulders hunched defensively and his expression one of embarrassed belligerence.  
"Holy Hannah," muttered Dilly under her breath. She eyed the herbal tonic suspiciously, as though suspecting it of giving her hallucinations.  
The hulking uruk of two days ago was barely recognizable. His skin was smooth and brown, and his features were much more regular, despite his rather desperate scowl. He was still dressed in a filthy, bloody orcish tunic - though it didn't fit him anymore - and the long matted hair was the same, as were subtle hints of his old appearance in posture and face. But overall he didn't look much worse than an acceptably ugly human. In fact, he looked a bit better.  
He also looked hugely nervous. Eicys moved to stand close to him, and Ungrath, senses working in overdrive, felt his skin prickle with her nearness. He moved away hastily. He realized immediately that this was worse, but felt too monumentally stupid to risk stepping back again. She was looking at him encouragingly, though, and so Ungrath took a breath and forced out an awkward, "Um. Hello..." Even his voice was different. But there was a sense that the ice was breaking, or at least showing some hairline cracks.  
"Uh, hi... Ungrath..." said Eredolyn, almost as brilliantly as he had. "Um... Is that really you?"  
He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. There was a pregnant pause. It gave birth to a lot of little pauses, each more deeply embarrassing than its parent.  
"Wow," Cebu said at last, with manic brightness. "Well... er, welcome back, Ungrath!" She gave him a smile which, to Ungrath's vast surprise, appeared more genuine and... sympathetic?...than frightened. He looked at her a little wildly. She shouldn't be acting nice to him: he'd scared her half to death back there by that pool! He wondered how much Eicys had explained to the Immies. None of them were reacting in the way he'd expected, not even Taras.  
...In fact, the_ tark_ wasn't reacting at all.  
The southern Prince stood quietly, with that trained stillness that made him almost invisible, his cool grey gaze flat and expressionless. The only visible sign of any tension was the sword still out of its sheath and resting comfortably in Taras' grip.  
Ungrath glared. Eicys nudged him, and he jumped.  
The Awkward Pauses were still breeding like mad, and the Immies' attempts at smiles were looking more strained by the minute. It had been a very, very long month for all of them, and they would have rather liked for something sensible to happen, like finding their way home and having a nice hot shower and a weeklong nap. Instead they were facing a huge and ugly person whom they barely knew, whom they would have liked to put at his ease but who apparently didn't have any ease to be put at.  
In short, everyone was tired, confused, embarassed, and tense - and no one was more so than Ungrath himself.  
"So..." A curious voice broke in at last, "...Are you an orc or a human?"  
This, predictably, came from Wlore, who thought that "tact" was a mispronunciation of the word for riding equipment. Eredolyn elbowed her, and bruised her elbow on a jutting rib. Wlore was little more than a skeleton held together with skin, scars, and stubborn defiance. Right now she was peering at Ungrath through a curtain of tangled golden hair, looking very curious. If Ungrath was an orc she would continue to reluctantly hate him, because Wlore despised orcs with every fiber of her being. But if he was human, then she was free to admire him for having killed more orcs in one go than anyone she'd ever heard of. Such is the straightforward nature of an Eorling with a vendetta.  
Ungrath looked lost. He stared at his hands, one fist curling and uncurling almost absently. Curiosity and tension were thick in the air, but no one seemed tenser than Eicys, who had fixed him with an odd expression and was biting nervously at her lower lip.  
Ungrath looked up. "I'm not an orc," he said quietly, decisively.  
Eicys beamed. Her friend was looking dazed and relieved, as though he'd finally caved in to some awful pressure and had discovered that everything was going to be all right after all. She felt tempted to hug him, but he probably would have just gone stiff and uncomfortable on her again.  
"Oh, good," said Wlore stoutly, and there followed a murmur of gradually less awkward greetings until people were talking with relative normalcy again. One exception was Tuima, who never said much anyway and was currently occupied with staring in between Ungrath and the trees with an expression of bafflement, and consequently annoyance. Tuima hated being confused.  
The other exception was Taras, who was still looking utterly calm but took his gaze off of Ungrath only once, to glance in the direction of Orthanc with a deeply suspicious gleam in his eyes. Ungrath had to be elbowed frequently for glaring at the Gondorian. That collected, mistrustful stare grated on his nerves more than jeers and insults would have done.  
So he was glad for the opportunity to sit down and have a canteen half-full of watery, lumpy stew pressed on him - and not just because it meant he could keep his back to Taras. Ungrath had never felt so tired, and his muscles still trembled slightly with the memory of pain. He downed the stew in three swallows and sat with his head in his hands, feeling dizzy, exhausted, and content. If only the Immies would stop staring at him - or worse, asking questions. Eredolyn was the worst: she was insatiably curious and very clever. Ungrath fell back on his weariness and offered little more than grunts by way of replies.  
"But Ungrath -" she began after asking about his unusual accent and receiving only a shrug for an answer. She stopped, and with her head on one side said absently, "You know, you don't really look much like an Ungrath anymore."  
The erstwhile uruk's reaction was surprising. His eyes went wide and his shoulders went stiff. He muttered to Eicys, so quietly that only the sharp-eared Taras and Tuima could hear: "What did you tell them?"  
"Not about that," Eicys reassured him equally quietly. If it were at all possible, Taras became even more still, every muscle tensed and a hard suspicion in his eyes.  
For the others' benefit, Eicys clarified in a more normal voice, "She just meant the name Ungrath doesn't really fit you."  
Ungrath was still flustered enough that he said what he was actually thinking: "Hah. Tha's not a name."  
"What do you mean?" asked Eredolyn.  
Eicys glanced at her friend and explained, "Ungrath... is a sort of nickname the other orcs gave him."  
"What's it mean?" Eredolyn asked. Ungrath flinched and Eicys winced. "Oh," said Eredolyn. "_That _ kind of nickname. What's your real name, then?"  
Ungrath groaned inwardly. "I don' know. I've been Ungrath since Sar- for a long time. I can't remember any other name."

_Saruman..._ Taras completed in his head. His loathing of the evil wizard was second only to his hatred for Maenadan. In the first few months, before Taras faded from notice and became a mere grey shadow haunting the corners of his lightless cell, Saruman would drag him out for questioning - and he hadn't been pleasant about it. Taras had very nearly died of his wounds from the ambush - the bloodstains were still visible on his ragged clothing and he wore a scar from sternum to spine, replete with the lumps where his broken ribs hadn't knitted back properly - and he had been very nearly insane at that point anyway. Simple brutality he probably could have handled, most likely through the inherited Númenorean gift that said he could choose his time of death... but that icy hypnotic voice, echoing relentlessly through the darkness as Taras lay nursing his wounds and his hatred...

"Taras?" Dilly murmured under cover of the Immies' appalled responses to Ungrath's revelation. "You all right?"  
"Hm? Oh. Yes, I'm fine," said Taras. "Thank you." Ungrath was hiding something, and if it put them in danger - if there was any risk of their being dragged back to Orthanc...  
"It's just that you're wearing that face that means serious trouble," Dilly informed him.  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I feel fine. But what about you? How's your shoulder?"  
"I can't really feel it. I've gone all numb and sleepy - which is your fault, by the way. That drink was vile." She made a face.  
"Something had to be done," he said with a tiny smile, "since bargaining hadn't worked."  
"I wasn't going to sleep through Eicys' story!"  
"Yes," he agreed quietly. "It was quite a story. I wonder how much of it was left out."  
Dilly gave him a wary look. "You still don't trust him."  
"I don't trust anyone unless they've given me a reason to do so."  
"Sometimes not even then?" said Dilly shrewdly.  
He paused for a long moment. "I was always a very good judge of character," he said slowly. "It has something to do with Númenorean blood, I think. My cousin Faramir - he's the Steward's younger son - is incredible at it; he can look right into a man's soul, it seems. I wonder, sometimes, what would have happened if he and... and Maenadan... had met. I wonder what he would have seen." Taras looked pensive and bleak. "I didn't see anything."  
Dilly opened her mouth to say something - she wasn't even entirely sure exactly what it would be - when Taras changed the subject, his eyes flicking back into the present moment. "What are they arguing about?"  
Dilly listened. "I think they're trying to pick a new name for Ungrath," she said, and grinned slightly. "He looks a little overwhelmed, don't you think?"  
Ungrath did indeed look overwhelmed. He listened with growing unease to the chaotic conversation crackling between the girls, which only grew more confusing as Dilly plunged in as well. They all seemed to have about the same attention span as your average butterfly: the discussion started with names but would range through the inconsequential (which usually led to long tangents), the inquisitive (which he was careful to avoid), and the incomprehensible (which seemed to be most common and included frequent mentions of someone with the bizarre name of Jayarrarrtolkin. Ungrath sincerely hoped that this wasn't one of the names they planned on picking for him ). And then, suddenly, one of them would say, "Oh, right: names. Focus, people!" and off they'd go again, all of them talking at once and against all logic apparently able not only to keep track of what they themselves were saying, but also to throw in replies to others' conversations in the middle of sentences and occasionally even words.  
Ungrath couldn't decide whether this ability was due to their being human, or foreign, or female. He suspected it was the latter, since Taras was still watching him silently, and both Tuima and Wlore were participating.  
"Bob?" Tuima's voice rose incredulously above the others. "Who in Elbereth's name would ever be called Bob ?"  
"My _dad's_ name is Bob," Eredolyn snapped.  
"And he hasn't done anything about it?"  
Eredolyn let out a growl worthy of their wargs, and turned her back. The chaos continued.  
"Stop," said Taras suddenly. The word wasn't loud, but it had the effect of a drop of ink in clear water, spreading in coiling tendrils until there was utter silence. And then they all heard it: a distant voice, complaining indecipherably, coming towards them. It was accompanied by the snap and swish of someone unfamiliar with woodland trying to force their way through the tangled mass that was Fangorn Forest.  
"Hide," hissed Taras. "Climb the trees." Tuima made a noise of protest. "What?" demanded Taras.  
"Do you have any idea how rude that is?" she asked, Silvan to the core.  
"No," he said. "Everybody get into a tree, now." He never raised his voice above that low command, but everyone was forcibly reminded that he was a prince, one of the highest-ranking Men in Middle-earth. His tone had confident authority etched into every syllable. There was a scramble for trees. Tuima was muttering frantically in Sindarin - presumably begging the trees' pardon. Or swearing. One could never be certain.  
"Tuima!" said Taras in a fierce undertone. He jerked his head toward Ungrath, who was being held away from the line of trees by thrashing branches and coiling roots. Ungrath let out a guttural snarl of frustration, and several Immies winced. "At least ask them to let him past," Taras said, helping Dilly to her feet. To muffled but vehement protests, he then picked her up and handed her easily up to Eredolyn, who was already clinging to a creaking, groaning tree of her own.  
"I can climb a tree!" Dilly told him ferociously, but he wasn't paying attention.  
"Tuima!" he insisted.  
The Elf began talking quietly and rapidly, and at last the tree quieted again - though not before clipping Ungrath sharply on the side of his head so that he almost fell over. He snarled again.  
"Get out!" Tuima hissed at him. The voice was coming closer. "Go away!" Ungrath scowled uncertainly. "Go! " she reiterated. Ungrath turned and shoved his way into the undergrowth. Tuima whirled around to scale Dilly and Eredolyn's tree with obnoxious ease. By now the complainer's voice was much clearer, and sounding indignant and weary by turns.  
"Where's Taras?" whispered Eredolyn, who was keeping a firm but surreptitious grip on the back of Dilly's shirt. There is no doubt that she would have gotten thoroughly chewed out for this if her friend had been fully coherent, but Dilly was groggy, achey, and numb, and had been staying awake for the past few hours by dint of sheer stubbornness.  
"There," Tuima whispered back. "In the brush."  
"Where?"  
"_There _ ."  
"I can't see - "  
"Will you be _quiet_ ?"  
"Jerk," Eredolyn muttered inaudibly. Tuima gave her an acid glare.  
"Ssh, he's coming..." warned Wlore.  
"You ought to be in a bloody loony bin, you know that?" the voice was saying in a strong British accent. Eredolyn could make out someone awkwardly shoving their way through the undergrowth, trailed by a faint, noiseless shadow. "I mean, I understand the whole fanatic thing, but it's ridiculous this is. It's been almost two days, you're going to have the police after - Ow! _Rhegi_ . Look, couldn't you at least get rid of the stupid rope? It's not like I'm gonna try anything while you're pointing that thing at me, okay? Oh, for the love of - _Now_ what do you hear?"  
There was an explosion of leaves, a flash of steel, and a feminine shout. And then the nameless complainer said, "Oh."  
Eredolyn at last got a decent look at the scene before her. A boy only a little older than herself was standing very still. He had tousled dark hair, a sweatshirt with the odd logo _Cymru am Byth!_ and a pleasant, open face, which was very dirty. He also had his hands tied tightly in front of him, and Taras' sword at his throat.  
Obviously, things were not going well for this kid.  
He was staring at Taras and the long Elven blade hovering just above his sweatshirt collar. But Taras wasn't looking at him: he was focused on the beautiful blonde girl who had a nocked arrow pointed directly between his eyes. For a moment, there was dead silence.  
Then Tuima shrieked, "Linsul!"  
A startled movement from three people very nearly cost two of them their lives. But Tuima was already out of the tree and running towards them. The blonde girl dropped bow and arrow and shouted something in Elvish of which the only comprehensible word was Tuima's name, and then the two of them were hugging and smiling and babbling in Sindarin at a hundred miles a minute.  
The Immies were stunned. After a minute, Eredolyn realized that she should have noticed the little signs: the flowing hair, the perfect complexion, the otherworldly grace... the irritated, ignored mortal tagging alongside. Yep, definitely an Elf.  
The irritated, ignored mortal in question was looking rather more so, despite the fact that Taras' sword had dropped away from his throat.  
"What the heck is going on here?" he demanded. "Who are you people?" No one paid him the slightest attention.  
"Tuima?" asked Cebu, trying to figure out a way to get out of her tree (besides the obvious and most direct method). "Who is this?"  
Tuima turned, wearing a smile that lit the forest. "This is my sister, Linsul."  
Eredolyn, halfway out of her own tree, slipped and landed hard on her backside. She barely noticed. "You have a sister ?" she asked. The tied-up boy looked equally shocked and horrified.  
"You don't look alike," he accused the two Elves, as though hoping he could prove that they weren't related after all.  
"We take after different parents," said Tuima absently, her words sandwiched in a stream of Elvish. If gestures and facial expressions were anything to go by, Tuima was sliding between emotions at an appreciable fraction of light speed. Her sister wore a constant, tiny smile, grey eyes gleaming with mirth and relief. Eredolyn noticed that the newcomer's hair wasn't blonde after all - it was silver, with the faintest undertone of gold. She had the same achingly beautiful, angular face as her sister, but more delicate and merry, and the queer long-limbed grace of the Elves had a sprightly feel in Linsul. In a word, she was gorgeous. She fit every cherished idea of an Elf.  
Still, though, she shared with Tuima that otherworldly feel that was a bit eerie. If you looked properly, you would never need pointed ears to tell you that the two of them weren't human. It had something in common, perhaps, with the fact that they were both beautiful - but not exactly attractive. It wasn't something you could describe .  
"Hey, well, look - I'm glad you two are so happy to see each other and all, but could someone _please_ for the love of St. David and all that is holy tell me what the uffern is going on here!"  
The Immies looked at each other. Dilly slid out of her tree with one arm clenched awkwardly to her chest and landed upright only because Taras materialized out of nowhere to take her arm. "Um... have you heard of the Lord of the Rings?" she asked as she disentangled a twig from her hair.  
"Of course," he said. "Crazy woman there" - he nodded at Linsul - "seems to think she's in it. Is this some sort of role-playing game or something?"  
"Ah... No. Unfortunately." The boy looked puzzled. Dilly gestured to the dense, gloomy woodland. "Welcome to Fangorn Forest," she said. .


	34. Introductions

_**Muse Quest ****Chapter 34: Introductions  
**__Kad was beginning to experience a dreadful, nagging doubt that these people might not be insane after all..._

Here's the next chapter, O Wonderful Readers of Ours...Please feel free to tell us if you enjoyed it or not. Again, one thousand appologies over the length between chapters! The poor Immies are split over three continents! Give us a break!

" This is Fangorn Forest."  
The boy stared at her. "Riiight," he said at last. "And my Auntie is the Queen Mum. Look, isn't there anyone here who's going to give me a straight answer?"  
The Immies shared resigned looks. "She just did," said Eicys.  
"This is Fangorn," beamed Eredolyn.  
"Unfortunately," muttered Wlore.  
The boy moved to rub his face and stopped when both hands came up: he was still bound. "A little help?" he suggested.  
They hesitated. "Why'd she tie you up?" asked Wlore.  
"Because I told her I wanted to be a troll in my next life. She's completely batty. She's got a bow and her hair is silver. I want someone to tell me what's going on."  
"Only Elves get to be reborn," Wlore told him. "And why would you want to be a troll?"  
"For the love of – I was _joking_ , all right? And enough with the Elf stuff. Please, someone, untie me. Get that tall chap with the overgrown pocket knife to…" The boy paused. Taras had looked around at him with those fathomless grey eyes, one hand still on his sword, gory rags of clothing hanging loosely from his shoulders. Suddenly he almost believed these people. There'd been something queer about that girl… and this man with the dark hair and pale face had a look about him like… like King Arthur, or something. You looked at those eyes and had to resist the urge to bow.  
"Um…" he said, clearly flustered and wanting to start over. "My name's Kad. There is good with me to meet you. I mean – " He blinked away the words with a frustrated expression. "Nice to meet you all. Er."  
Slightly puzzled at the weird grammar, the Immies glanced at each other. "Oh, cut him loose, Taras," sighed Dilly. "He's not going to do anything. And if he does, just kill him." Taras didn't blink, most likely because that's what he'd been thinking anyway, but Dilly laughed at Kad's expression. "I was kidding!" she told him.  
"Oh..."  
Taras was giving Kad a Look. It made him feel as though he was being turned inside out and shaken; it was the most penetrating stare he'd ever received. He gave Taras an extremely nervous grin in return and held out his hands hopefully.  
_Ssczing!_   
Kad made a sound like "gnhi!" and stared at his hands. The cords had been neatly sliced apart, leaving a single coil around each wrist. Taras was resheathing his sword and not even looking at him; he was listening carefully to the rapid flow of Sindarin between Tuima and her sister.  
Kad goggled.  
"He's very good, isn't he?" commented Eicys under her breath.  
"Er," said Kad dazedly, "Yes."  
"Don't worry," she said. "You get used to him. Sort of."  
"Oh." Kad shook himself. "Um, so… Who are you guys? What are you doing out here?"  
"We call ourselves the Immies," said Eicys. "Don't ask me why. And right now we're trying not to starve, freeze, die of infection" – she jerked her head toward Dilly, who was holding her left arm awkwardly against her chest – "get eaten by trees or wargs, or be discovered by Saruman… again."  
"Oh," said Kad again. "Keeping busy then, what?"  
"A bit," she agreed.  
"Um, you want to run that bit about carnivorous trees past me again?"  
"Oh," she said, suddenly distracted. "That's right – where's Ungrath?"  
"Who?"  
"My friend…" She stared around absently.  
"Right," he said. "Why don't you just… start from the beginning. Who are you?"  
"I'm Eicys," said Eicys.  
This earned her a slow stare.  
"It's a nickname," she said. "So is everyone else's. See, this is Eredolyn…" A girl with short auburn hair and the remains of a velvet gown gave him a cheery wave.  
"Dilly…" This was the girl with the dark hair and the bandages. There was blood all over her t-shirt and her face was pale, but she grinned at him.  
"Wlore…" Wlore was a veritable stick figure beneath a dirty woollen dress and oversized boots. She had an explosion of pale gold hair pulled into a ragged braid, an expression of edgy defiance, and two big knives stuck in her belt.  
"Tuima, and I guess that's her sister… And this is Taras, the chap with the pocketknife." Kad bit his lip in an embarassed grin, and nodded to Taras. Taras nodded back. "And my sister… where's Cebu – Oh. This is Cebu."  
Kad's jaw dropped.  
"You!" he said.  
Cebu looked startled. "Um… me?"  
"I – I'm your neighbor," said Kad, pulling himself together. He nodded to Eicys "Both of you, I guess. Remember, the new kid with the funny accent?" He grinned hopefully.  
"Oh!" said Cebu, with a bewildered glance at Eicys. "Ah…Of course! …So… how are things?" She'd swear she had never seen Kad in her life before.  
"Not bad. I guess. Um. How'd you get here?"  
"Well, it's kind of a long story…"  
"Yeh, I believe it. Where've you been the last week?"  
"The last… _What _ ?"  
"I mean – er, you know, I haven't seen you around for a while…" He looked very awkward.  
"I've been out here for a month!" said Cebu. "We all have!"  
There was a pause. "Oh," said Kad politely.  
"You don't believe me?"  
"Er… I saw you a few days ago. That costume party, remember? I said hi." He was looking more awkward by the minute.  
"Oh. Um, really?" said Cebu, who didn't remember anything of the sort. She pulled herself together. "But that was more than month ago. All sorts of things have happened since then!"  
"Yes, it sounds like it's been… busy," he said, even more politely than before.  
"You don't believe me!" said Cebu indignantly. "It has been a month, hasn't it, guys?"  
"At least," said Eredolyn.  
"Feels like three," said Dilly.  
"Ungrath!" Eicys said suddenly. Everyone turned. Ungrath pushed his way out of the undergrowth, pausing to rip his tunic away from some thorns and then again to tug his foot free of a clutching root. He looked worn out and frustrated, and was nursing a nasty lump on the side of his head.  
"Who're you?" he growled at Kad.  
"Ungrath, this is Kad," said Eicys. "And that's Linsul, Tuima's sister." Linsul glanced up from where she'd been talking to Tuima for so long, and froze. Tuima hissed something at her in Elvish. Slowly Linsul's expression thawed into a very tentative smile, and she nodded, if a bit suspiciously, and turned back to her sister. The flow of Elvish moved even more rapidly than before.  
"Oh, good," muttered Ungrath.  
"Kad," said Eicys, "This is… Oh, wait. Um, what did we decide?"  
"Huh?" said Kad, but the Immies were all chorusing the seven or so names they'd chosen as favorites.  
"Stop!" said Ungrath a bit desperately. He rubbed his bruised head, grimacing. "Say them again." Another clamor of names ensued, but this time Ungrath, finally managing to distinguish separate words, heard one he liked.  
"Dan," he said, over the cacophony.  
There was a pause. "…Say again?" said Eredolyn.  
"I like Dan," he repeated firmly. With his curious accent – which was rapidly losing its orcish inflections – the name sounded different: the "a" was short and soft, and the "n" drawn out.  
"Dann," echoed Eicys, and smiled brilliantly. "That's _perfect_ ." She turned back to Kad. "This is Dann."  
Kad blinked. "I think I missed something," he said to Eicys, but no explanation seemed forthcoming. "Um, hi, Dann," he said carefully, offering a courteous smile to his newest, most frightening acquaintance. Dann was almost seven feet tall, with a filthy tangle of black hair, a shirt that was more holes and bloodstains than fabric, grimy mottled skin, and what looked disturbingly like fangs. People in Kad's world purchased handguns and locked their doors at night for fear of men who looked like Dann. But he was wearing a slow, crooked smile that you almost had to like.  
"Hello," he said happily. Kad wondered about his accent. It was sort of… Russian-Australian, maybe with some Italian thrown in, and he was talking in the cautious way of a boy whose voice had just changed, even though he looked to be about eighteen.  
All in all, this was the weirdest group of people he'd ever come across.  
"So how'd you end up here, Kad?" asked Dilly.  
"I was loading up my car for a camping trip with my uncle – I'm staying with him while I go to college – and I heard someone scream over by that forest in her backyard…" He gestured to Cebu. "So I ran over to look. I found a paintball gun and a bunch of cottonballs, which was really weird. Then I guess I got lost, because the trees all looked different – and then I ran into _her_ …"

He'd been wandering around in the strangely dark woodland, humming nervous snatches of songs and wishing he'd brought the flashlight from his camping bag, when there was a flash of silver and something –_ someone_ – dropped out of a tree about two inches from his nose and held a knife against the corner of one eye.  
Kad went cross-eyed, but nonetheless managed to see that the person in front of him was the most stunningly good-looking girl he'd ever come across. She had a complexion like ice and rose petals, masses of silvery hair, and huge silver-grey eyes. It was slightly eerie, like mist made solid.  
The girl said something in language that sounded very much like…  
"Cymraes d'chi?" Kad asked, very surprised. She frowned, and rattled off more of that familiar-sounding language. Kad shook his head, disappointed and confused. Then:  
"What are you doing here?" she asked. She had a strong, lilting accent and a voice like flutes and harps and water. His choir director back home would have died of delight to have this girl's voice.  
"Er… I got lost," he said. She was still holding that knife uncomfortably close. It looked like a _dagger_ . He wondered if he could reach his pocketknife without her noticing and putting his eye out. The image was thoroughly incongruous with the pale, delicate face.  
She blinked a few times, as though running his words through a mental translation. "Where are you from?" she said. The words were slightly stilted: this obviously wasn't her native language.  
"Wales."  
"I have never heard of _Wales_ ," she said suspiciously.  
Kad's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment. "Will you put that knife away?" he demanded.  
She didn't move. "What is your allegiance?"  
"Huh?"  
"To whom do you owe allegiance?"  
"No one!"  
"You are not one of the wild men? You do not serve Sauron?"  
"Sauron… what, like as in that _Lord of the Rings_ evil bloke?" She nodded stiffly. "Ohh," said Kad. "This is some sort of role-playing thing? You're one of those weird –" He stopped. It probably wasn't wise to antagonize someone with a knife and an outfit out of _Fantasy Today_ , especially if she dyed her hair silver. Most people dyed their hair to get _rid_ of silver.  
Besides, she was really, really, stunningly beautiful...  
"For the last time – what is your allegiance?"  
Kad gave her a boyish smile. "Aw, heck – I'll be on the bad guy side, I s'pose. I always wanted to be a troll in my next life."  
She obviously did not appreciate the humor. The knife was suddenly brushing the skin beneath his chin. Kad swallowed, feeling a drop of blood slide down his neck. This had become a little too real for comfort. "Someone could get _hurt_ with that thing," he told her. She stared at him, grey eyes intense. "Um, okay, look," said Kad. "I just want to go home, all right?"  
Still she didn't move.  
"Ah, for the love of – Leave me alone! Go aw– "  
The world slid suddenly into oblivion. Kad's last, indistinct thought was, _I didn't even see her move_! 

"Anyway, I spent the whole next day tromping around with my hands tied, getting asked the most bizzarre questions and not getting a single answer." Kad rubbed his wrists. "I assume it was you who screamed?" He nodded at Cebu.  
"I don't know… I think it was Ere."  
"No, Eredolyn was _happy_ about the orcs," said Dilly drowsily.  
"Not _happy_ ," Eredolyn defended herself. "Just… you know, excited. I mean, how often do you see a real live orc?"  
"Too often," muttered Wlore. "Much better to see a real dead orc."  
Dann shifted uncomfortably, though no one besides Kad and Eicys seemed to notice. No, scratch that – Taras noticed. You got the impression he noticed _everything_ , and he was paying special attention to Dann, who kept returning the occasional glare. There was obviously no love lost between those two.  
"So you're telling me we really _are_ in the Lord of the Rings story?" said Kad skeptically. "Goblins and Hobbits and Elves, oh my?"  
Several of the girls nodded, but Wlore said grumpily, "I don't know what you mean, _story_ . This is Middle-earth. It's not like it's… imaginary, or something."  
"Well, in our world it _is_ imaginary," said Cebu apologetically.  
"I still don't understand all this about other worlds," grumbled Wlore.  
"You really are serious!" Kad exclaimed suddenly. "You really believe we're in… Tolkiendom, or something!"  
"Well, actually, we're in a fanfic by this other author – "  
"Don't confuse him," said Cebu.  
"Too late," said Kad. He sighed. "You might as well tell me the whole thing. And is there anything to eat? I swear Cloud Lady over there lives on air."  
They exchanged glances. "There's a little stew left…" said Eredolyn.  
Kad belatedly noticed the Immies' rather pinched-looking faces. Wlore in particular looked like an African famine victim, albeit blonde. "Never mind," he said hastily. "I'm not really hungry. Should I – should I build up the fire, or something?"  
"Thanks," said Eicys. "It is getting really cold." Dilly nodded absently. She looked rather ill, and even more pale than before.  
"I'll get some more wood," muttered Dann hastily, and pushed his way back into the forest, looking a bit unsteady on his feet. Kad noticed that the trees all creaked menacingly when he came near, and swayed in a nonexistant wind. That was… not comforting.  
"Tea," said Tuima abruptly. They all looked up at her, startled. The Elf was _smiling_ . She actually looked rather pretty when she did that. "It will be very cold tonight," she said. "I have only rosehips and chokecherry bark, but it will be hot. And Linsul has enough supplies to feed us for a day or two."  
That got the Immies' attention. There was a sudden bustle of activity as people dragged their makeshift seats – boulders and bits of stump – into a closer ring around their little fire. Tuima began boiling water in the helmet-pot as Linsul went through her pack for supplies. Cebu shook leaves out of their three pilfered orc-cloaks and handed them around.  
A crashing, snapping noise in the undergrowth announced Dann's return. He was dragging an enormous old log that should have taken at least three people to shift. He dropped it in the middle of the clearing and scrubbed dirty hands on his shirt without looking up, as though hoping that people would ignore him.  
"We can't burn that," objected Taras, the faintest hint of a chill in his voice. "It's too big."  
"Oh, right… you missed this last time, Taras," said Eredolyn. "Just watch." Dann gave her an embarassed look, but Eredolyn said cheerfully, "Go for it, Un—Dann."  
Dann regarded the big log with a certain amount of trepidation. He couldn't remember ever being this tired; his head was fully of a thick, heavy ache and every muscle trembled with exhaustion just from hauling the wood back to camp, which shouldn't have taken him enough effort to even bother mentioning. And everybody was watching him.  
Dann worked his fingers into a likely-looking split in the wood and strained. Nothing happened. He braced one foot against the log; muscles bunched and knotted under his ragged tunic. Still nothing.  
Dann scowled in surprise, put his head down, and heaved. With a ripping sort of crack, the log split reluctantly, though not into the neat halves he had always managed when he worked at the furnaces in Isengard. He was left with perhaps a third of the wood, scraped and bloody knuckles, and two palms full of splinters. Dann snapped or wrenched the split wood into more manageable pieces and retreated a few paces to examine his hands, still determinedly not looking at anyone.  
Eredolyn grinned. Kad's eyes were so wide they were threatening to roll straight out of his head. "You should've seen him before," she murmured.  
"Before what?"  
She looked a bit uncertain. "He's… really different now from when we met him," she said vaguely. But before Kad could ask for elaboration, she'd bounced away to join the others as Linsul produced some sort of wafer-bread wrapped in leaves. He remembered seeing something like it in the _Lord of the Rings_ movies.  
Kad was beginning to experience a dreadful, nagging doubt that these people might not be insane after all.


End file.
